Brown
by Backroads
Summary: Percy accidently become involved with a group seeking to destroy the Order of the Phoenix and must decide where he stands in the war.
1. A Job Offer

"We don't like fancy names," the woman said with obvious distaste as she spoke more to her mug of coffee than her guest. She stirred a long, callused finger in the lukewarm drink before putting it in her mouth to suck. A rather disgusting display, but one that fit her image. She was tall, and much too skinny for the mop of frizzy blonde hair that all but buried her small face. "Fancy names are obvious. They scream "Look at me! I am a secret organization!" She banged her fist down on the table, splattering coffee everywhere.     

Percy Weasley, flinching from the flying coffee, allowed himself a smile. It was ironic that this woman was an example of the people fighting Lord Voldemort; it didn't give him much security. But she did have a point. That Order of the Phoenix thing the rest of his family was so proud of had a name bound to get attention someday. "So you call yourself Brown?"

The woman smiled as she mopped up the spilt coffee with a filthy rag. "You judge us on that? I'd be careful about the comments I made in this village, mister."

Percy took a deep breath to fight a wave of indignation that rushed through him. He had already been insulted enough, having been dragged to this hell hole of a tavern to have this greasy woman laugh at his every move. He didn't need a lecture. "Look, I just want the job."

The woman's smile broadened. She pulled a wand from the pocket of her ratty robes and waved a piece of parchment out of the air. "You seem. . . qualified. Your past. . . . "

He crossed his fingers under the table.

". . . Not much there. Oh, well. Means you're either boring or completely trustworthy. Or. . ." The smile faded completely.

"Or what?" He was getting impatient.

She gave a short laugh, waved her hand, and the parchment disappeared. "Or nothing. I wouldn't worry about it. Plenty of people like you have turned up before."

Percy absent-mindedly tugged at the robe of his sleeve. How he would love to strike this woman! "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."

She drained her coffee and stood up. "You don't want a job. You want to hide. Someone will get in touch with you soon. They'll mention my name, Valentine. Don't even think about leaving the village." She gave a playful wink. "We don't trust you yet." She tossed some knuts on the table and marched from the tavern.

Percy remained at the table, fuming silently. Of all the nerve! He couldn't decide which bothered him more: Valentine's manners or the fact that she was right. He hurriedly looked around the tavern to see if anyone was watching. A few humanoid shadows parked at random tables seemed indulged in their own interests. Most likely they hadn't heard any of the conversation.

He stared at the knuts for a moment before sweeping them into his hand. No one noticed that, either. He then headed for the tavern's exit.

He stood a moment in the shade just outside the door, taking in the scene before him. Dragon's Tooth was too big a name for a pitiful little village compromised of a few dozen rickety cabins of varying degrees of importance. In all honesty, Percy wasn't even sure where the village was located. Out in the woods, tucked near the mountains. That was obvious. It was a wizarding village, so it had to be unplottable. Someone had given him directions a few weeks before.

As pathetic as Dragon's Tooth was, Percy had to admit it did look somewhat nice with as lovely as the weather was. In fact, it was a little too lovely for weather. He pulled the hood of his cloak, which he had let hang loose during his meeting with Valentine, over his face. If they didn't trust him yet, he didn't want to be too recognizable.

He walked up the road, actually a dirt path beaten through the weeds, to the edge of the village. There was a patch of soft grass and a few trees. There he had set up his tent, a tattered old thing he had found at a pawn shop. He was glad no one knew him--a tent with a hide-a-bed couch tucked into the kitchen and a bathroom decorated with smiling frogs was embarrassing. After giving the tent an irritated kick, he entered and sprawled out on the couch. He wasn't tired; at least not physically. The fact that he hadn't stayed anywhere for longer than two weeks during the past year didn't help much.

He doubted he would get the job. He had heard that someone in a place called Dragon's Tooth needed a secretary. Just the basic odd jobs of filing papers and running for coffee; but it would be an income and it was work Percy knew well. He hadn't expected a secret organization. He was so sick of those he could scream. The war hadn't reached its peak yet, but he wished both sides would kill each other off in a single spectacular battle. The goblins could go, too. Percy had never much cared for goblins.

At least this Brown wasn't the Order of the Phoenix, though the similarities were there. He couldn't shake the feeling that the job offer hadn't been much more than a recruiting tactic. If they didn't like him, if they figure out who he was, they'd probably take him out in the woods and execute him. He didn't think he'd mind--it'd break the monotony of his miserable existence.

He lifted his left arm, letting the sleeve of the robe fall back. The tent was not well-lit, but he could still see it: the subtle criss-cross pattern of scars over what looked like a bruised area. It hadn't burned in ages, but the sore was still there.


	2. Penelope

"Mr. Ignatius?"

Percy lifted his head and blinked. Someone was outside. He sat up, groaning. The couch was not meant for sleeping on. He hadn't even realized he had nodded off. The last several days had been a daze, one of anticipation and restlessness. Valentine had recognized him and notified the proper authorities. She had, of course, been enjoying the time since the meeting.

"Mr. Ignatius, are you in there?" the voice called again. A man's voice, deep and annunciating. Percy immediately liked it, despite himself.

"Be there in a moment," he replied, slipping the hood back on. He didn't know how dark it was outside. 

The man matched his voice as much as someone could in such an area. He was short and stocky, but well poised. Combed graying hair fell neatly to his shoulders. He frowned at Percy. "Mr. John Ignatius?"

"At your service," Percy replied, responding easily to the name he'd used for the past year.

The man's frown did not lessen. "Uh-huh. Yes. My name is Matthias Dormand. I'm supposed to let you know you received the job."

Percy's eyes widened. He had been right in assuming news did not travel this far. His former fear was pure paranoia. Unless. . . lovely, it was returning. He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "I did? I mean, thank-you, sir."

"Uh-huh. You'll be working for me. Just don't start flashing the Dark Mark around."

It took Percy a moment to realize that Dormand had made a joke. The finely wrinkled face barely lightened. "You won't need to worry about that, sir." He managed a weak laugh. "I also didn't expect to see anyone so soon."

"That'd be Valentine. She likes drama. You will have to forgive her of that and get used to it." He cleared his throat and watched Percy almost expectantly.

Percy repressed a shudder. "Would . . . would you want to come inside for some coffee or something?"

"No, thank you." Dormand's tone was somewhat flat. "I'd like to talk to you about the job, and I prefer to talk while walking. I can show you around Dragon's Tooth."

"I've already seen it."

But Dormand had already started away from the tent, not even bothering to check that Percy was following him.

He sighed again and looked at the sky. It was quickly growing dark, and he was still tired. Giving the tent a final kick, he followed his new boss.

"So," said Dormand nonchalantly. "Do you have any questions about the job?"

"My tasks, sir?"

He laughed, a surprisingly jovial laugh for his personality. "You sound eager. A fine quality. Basically, you'll be doing whatever the hell I tell you to do."

"Which is, sir?" Sir. He was still in that habit. He wanted to spit the politeness from his tongue, scrape it off and burn it.

"Oh, a number of things. Paperwork, taking my messages. Getting my coffee." His voice softened, and he again turned his eyes expectantly toward Percy. "Valentine did tell you about Brown?"

Percy's first thought was that he was being tested for a spy. "Not much. Only that you stand against the Dar---He-who-must-not-be-named."

"Lord Voldemort." He paused, listening for something, before continuing. "Learn to say his name, son."

"Yes, sir."

"We don't do much. We don't even know much. But we have our people, we do our work. Do you know why they call this village Dragon's Tooth?"

Percy had no idea. It sounded like some raggedy pub in a bad neighborhood. Not that he'd say that aloud. 

"There's a fair number of dragons in the hills outside the village, Mr. Ignatius. They never get too close, generally. Well, we hear Voldemort is aiming to create dragon armies."

"Dragon armies?!" It must have been a new plan, one that developed after he had left.

"Evidently he has found a way to Imperius the beast mind. If he can get near them . . . well, best not think about it. But we like our dragons. It gives this little village some pride to live near so many. Besides, they're quite dangerous, even without Voldemort's help. But you won't be worrying about any of this. You'll be safe doing paperwork."

They had already circled the village; Dormand hadn't pointed out a single thing.

"Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Ignatius." His eyes inadvertently passed over Percy's left arm. "Most of the village is part of Brown. You can talk to anyone. Except the outsiders." He nodded toward a shadowy tavern across the road. "We've got some guests for a few months. Researchers from St. Mungo's have come to study the local plants."

Percy scoffed, forgetting himself. "They wouldn't have Death Eaters at St. Mungos!"

Dormand frowned. "They could be anywhere. Though I agree with you. But these people are saving the world in their more peaceable way. They don't need to get mixed up in this, understand?"

He stared at Percy with such intensity that all he could do was nod feebly. 

"I'm glad you understand. Valentine has shown me your resume, and I'm pleased to have you onboard. Work begins tomorrow at sunrise. You'd best get your sleep. Goodnight, Mr. Ignatius." And with a loud pop, he disapparated.

"Show off," Percy muttered, thinking back to when he had first earned his license; he had apparated into the kitchen every morning. He bitterly shook the memory away and turned back toward his tent.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a figure round the corner of the St. Mungo tavern. Someone gathering moon plants, he thought. He didn't really care. In fact, by the time he had reached his tent, he had completely forgotten about the whole thing. 

The next morning, he rolled out of the hide-a-bed and set off for work in a grubby little excuse for an office building. A dark-haired man a few years older than him was already there, picking his teeth as dumped a stack of parchment on a desk. The desk shook with the fresh weight, and for one moment Percy was certain it'd collapse. 

"Good morning," he murmured to the man, who grinned and extended a hand.

"Winston Morsley," he exclaimed almost too eagerly. 

"John Ignatius." Percy pulled his throbbing hand away and nodded at the stack of papers. "Are those . . . ?"

"Reports?" Morsley's eyes glittered. "Yes, reports just in! Our spies know much! Many secrets! Our village will hold out against him! We might even defeat him! Our spies--"

"Are no concern of Mr. Ignatius," Dormand finished loudly as he strolled from a back door Percy hadn't noticed. Probably hadn't even been there. 

Morsley paled under Dormand's gaze, and he humbly scooped the stack into his arms. "I meant nothing, sir. I . . ."

"Have you heard any news from Marchent?"

Morsley's voice dropped several volumes. "Same as always. Not for three weeks, sir."

"Pugmire was with him. The Healers?"

"Still working with him, sir."

Apparently there was nothing wrong with Percy overhearing this conversation, but at the same time it was clearly not directed at him. He hovered nearby, waiting for instructions. Like a pathetic lapdog. He sighed. Oh, well. What else was his life?

Dormand noticed him again. "Mr. Ignatius, I consider it very rude when my employees hide their faces in my presence. Please remove that ridiculous hood."

Percy shuddered involuntarily, but somehow he managed to make his hand reach up to pull the hood back.

Morsley's face went further ashen, if such a thing was possible, but Dormand's expression barely flickered. "Did you ever have a decent Healer have a look at that injury?"

Percy gingerly ran a hand over the diagonal welt that nearly split his face in two. "It was a deep cut. Hippogriff."

Dormand nodded understandingly, as if he had dealt with mad hippogriffs many a time. "Ah. Of course. Well, just remember that we don't mind in this office. You may wear your hood outside, however, if you prefer. But I like to see my employees. There's your desk. You'll find all the ink and quills and parchment you could possibly need in the middle drawer. Copy all messages, never question." 

The front door flew open, and Valentine strutted in, frizzy blonde hair everywhere. She winked at Percy. "Ah, John Ignatius. Good to see you got the job." She pressed a wrinkled bunch of parchment at his chest. "Clean this up for me."

It was five feet of dragon notes.

"Your first task," Dormand said with an oddly familiar laugh. "Call me if there is an emergency."

"There's plenty more coming, Dormand," Valentine said breathlessly. "The population in the second territory are stabilizing again."

"Is that all you think about?" Morsley asked bitterly.

"Yes." With a toss of her blonde frizz, she was out the door. Dormand went into the back door, which promptly disappeared. Percy found himself left alone with Morsley.

Morsley's grin returned. "I don't even work here," he said proudly.

"Then why are you here?" 

"Because I'm the best Dormand has."

Percy was clearly supposed to ask for clarification, but he only stared.

Morsley's face fell. "Well, I'll be seeing you."

"What an idiot," Percy muttered as soon as Morsley was gone. He sat down at the desk, praying the chair was sturdier than it looked.

Valentine's organization was atrocious, but he found a sort of sick pleasure in arranging the mess into a proper report. There was something comforting in the task, a familiarity that he knew how to handle. Or maybe it was the obvious assurance that Valentine was an idiot. He dove into the task, relishing every edit.

He had been at it for several hours when the door opened. It was an almost timid motion, so unlike Valentine's brash thrust. Percy didn't bother to look up.

"Is Mr. Dormand around?" asked a soft female voice. "I need to speak with him."

He wasn't sure how to answer that question; the door to Dormand's office was invisible, and he hadn't left instructions that explicit. "He's out right now, but I—"

His voice broke off as he looked up. "Penelope?"

"It is you!" Penelope Clearwater didn't appear nearly as surprised as Percy; her expression was one of morbid curiosity satisfied. "I thought I saw you last night, outside the tavern. . . .I thought it was just a dream. . . . what on earth happened to your face?!"

Percy had jumped to his feet, shaking. "Penny. . . what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn't. . . I. . . . you can't say a word . . . " He searched the room wildly, hoping Morsley wasn't lurking in a corner.

  


"Where have you been?!" she demanded. She stared at him with something akin to horror, an expression he had only seen on her once. Five years before, she had been attacked by a basilisk and petrified. The same look had been on her face for weeks.

Other than that, she looked more or less the way he remembered her. Short, a definite contrast to his own height. The same blue eyes peered out from under loose bangs of light brown curls. She had always been pretty. "You cut your hair," he said stupidly.

The words affected her like a knife, and she flinched and lowered her eyes. "I shouldn't be here . . ." The front door was only a short run from her. It hung open, swaying gently on its rusty hinges. It must have seemed tempting to her.

"You don't believe anything about me?" Percy asked. It was something he had wanted to ask someone, anyone from his old life, for a long time. Now that the opportunity had arrived, it didn't feel real. "What the Ministry has said. . . well, most of it's a lie."

"Most of it?" Her eyes were back on him, burning. 

"You don't know what happened that night, Penny." What a strange thing to say. He wasn't even sure if he knew himself. 

"If Mister Dormand isn't here, I'm going to leave." She clenched her hands as she defiantly marched back to the door. "And don't call me Penny."

The door slammed shut behind her, and Percy sunk back into his chair. Something, a command, echoed from the depths of his mind, but it didn't make any sense. He returned to Valentine's report. She was so unorganized. The writing was unintelligible, worse than earlier. Minutes passed in vain as he stared at the parchment. With an anguished cry, he slammed his fist on the table, spilling parchment everywhere. 

"Focus, dammit! She wouldn't dare say anything." He stabbed his quill into the bottle of ink and splattered the parchment. He'd do this assignment. Of course he would. There was work to be done.


	3. The Healers

Thanks for reading, everyone!  I haven't done many serious fics, so I appreciate your comments. 

Jenny:  Yeah, I had this up before, but for some reason it got screwed up. . . *shrugs*  

Oh, and if you can't figure it out, Asa Cortez is originally from Spain.

Penelope Clearwater barreled into someone, receiving a crude insult in return, but she barely noticed.  The swearing wizard was merely an obstacle, nothing deserving attention.  She fled down the street, wanting to get as far from Percy and that office as she could.  Last night's confused curiosity had been replaced by a horror unlike anything she had ever before felt.  Except that basilisk in her mirror five years ago.  But this was comparable.  

Fatigue overwhelmed her at the edge of the town. It was far enough.  She collapsed into an untidy patch of grass, her lungs screaming for proper breath.  Her face was wet with sweat. No, tears. She hadn't realized she had been crying.  She glanced back at the village. Shouldn't Percy be coming after her now?  Soon?  He had always been stubborn, determined to get his way.  It was one of the qualities that had first attracted her to him.  It was one of the qualities that later repelled her.  But even as she had said her goodbyes, she had never expected what the last two years had brought.

She had barely believed the news:  Percy abandoning his family; Percy trying to murder his own father; Percy a Death-eater.  But it hadn't taken long for the truth to sink in.

"You don't know what happened that night."  Percy's words, unwelcome, echoed in her head.

"I do so," she muttered.  "You revealed your true colors, your true alignment.  You tried to kill Arthur Weasley."  She reflected on her words.  Reasonably convincing.  One didn't need much more information than what had been given.  Death-eater monster, trying to con her.  

"Damn you, Percy!" she screamed.  She pulled herself to her feet and furiously wiped her eyes.  

"Someone doesn't sound very happy."  The voice was surprisingly close.

With fresh embarrassment, Penelope whirled around to see a woman standing about fifteen feet away with a basket of herbs clutched in one hand.  "Healer Cortez!" she exclaimed.

"Miss Clearwater," Asa Cortez replied.  She was a small woman, shorter than Penelope, but stockier.  Wisps of black hair, streaked with grey, had slipped from a messy braid and now clung to her face, framing dark, worried eyes.  Yet she gave a warm, concerned smile.  "I heard you. . . ranting.  ¿Usted bien?  Are you all right?"

Penelope nodded and wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes.  "Yes, Asa.  I'm fine."  She smiled wryly.  "I'm more embarrassed someone heard that."

Asa laughed.  "Privadamente delirio es siempre público.  But you did sound quite angry.  Furious, actually.  At a young man?"

Fury certainly described her feelings.  Still, it was comforting to have someone to vent to, and Asa was offering that.  "No one really.  An old boyfriend.  I suppose. . . I suppose I still think about him on occasion."

"Clearly in a bad way."  Asa took Penelope's arm. "Come. We should return.  Did you speak to Dormand?"

The blood rushed to her face. "No," she admitted.  "He wasn't in."

"Hm." The elder woman frowned, revealing the small wrinkles around her mouth.  "And we need permission to expand the research area soon. He doesn't even have time for my most lindo aprendiz?"

Penelope had to smile at that. "Oh, I'm not the prettiest healer-in-training here.  Just the best."

"Of course you are, Miss Clearwater."

After that, there wasn't much left to say.  Penelope followed the Chief Healer toward their tavern, only half-listening as Asa Cortez talked about possible medicinal value and some new healing spells she had recently read about.

"Asa," Penelope said suddenly.  "What news have you heard recently?"

"About spells?"

"No.  News from. . . well, from the main world.  Have they caught any Death-eaters?  The ones that infiltrated the Ministry?"

Asa seemed surprised.  "I believe they've found a couple over the past few months.  Are you worried about the war extending out here?"

"Into the middle of nowhere?  Not really.  I just miss regular news."

"It is a bit scary, I admit.  Sino nosotros voluntad estar bien.  I wouldn't worry too much."  Then she stopped and faced Penelope. "Something else bothers you, doesn't it?"

The Healer's eyes, despite their warmth, were powerful, and Penelope found herself squirming under the gaze. "That boy you heard me ranting about. . ."

Fear washed over Asa's face.  "Yes?"

"There was an incident at the Ministry a few months after they announced You-Know-Who's return.  One of Dumbledore's men—Arthur Weasley—went to speak to someone who claimed to have information.  His own son was there instead.  He tried to kill Arthur."

Asa nodded.  She still looked fearful, but there was also confusion, as if she wasn't sure where this all was leading.  "I remember the incident.  That young man was a traitor of the worst kind.  To have been caught up in such a horrible group. . . and he came from such a good family, I hear.  Muy infortunado.  At least that's when they discovered him.  Didn't he disappear after?  Run and hide?"

It made Percy sound like a coward.  Penelope laughed to herself.  And he was.  "Yes, that's what he must have done."

"But I'm afraid I don't understand why you brought this up," Asa continued.  "Did you know him?  I take it, then, that he wasn't an old boyfriend."

"No. I just knew him from school.  An acquaintance."

Asa laughed, no longer worried. "Then what?  You didn't seem him lurking about, did you?"

"No," Penelope found herself saying.


	4. The Envelope

Disclaimer:  I do not own Harry Potter or any of the character creations by J. K. Rowling.  However, I do own whoever I make up.  Heck, I should own Penelope's personality.  Rowling should have no claim on undeveloped characters!

Half of an hour had scarcely passed before Percy managed to all but remove himself from Penelope's visit.  He again threw himself into Valentine's notes, determined to impress Matthias Dormand.  It was difficult, at first, but gradually the shock and horror evaporated into a misty surrealism that might have been explained away, if Percy desire.  Yes, it could easily have been an episode brought on by stress and that damned paranoia.  Such an idea was plausible.  Even if it had been real, what did it matter?  Penelope had every right to be in Dragon's Tooth.  True, he did not expect to see her, but coincidences happened everyday.

            One question distressed Percy slightly longer than the others:  With whom was Penelope with?  But, like the rest, this worry did not last long.  As he knew from his own experiences, devotion to a cause had to be powerful to be called such.  Penelope would stay nothing; he was sure of that.  After all, they had dated for two years.  She was too willful to entirely give herself to anything like Brown.  

            That left only one alternative.  She had always been interested in medicine and healing.  He doubted the St. Mungo's people would remain in the village very long.  Soon Penelope would no longer be a problem.  She would vanish from his life again.

            And so his attention fully returned to his work.  It was just past noon when he finished.  He gazed happily at the report that was now clean, organized, and completely un-Valentine-ed.  Yes, that would please Dormand.  The smile slipped from his face.  Not that it really mattered.  He sighed and flopped back in the chair.  He probably should find something to do, but there was no one around to instruct him.  He considered looking for Dormand.  Yes, that would be wonderful.  Keep up the eager puppy appearance.  They all loved that.

            More out of boredom than actual curiosity, he decided to explore the desk's drawers.  The middle one he now knew quite well: bottles of ink, raggedy quills, and a stack of blank parchment.  Two more drawers were placed above and below the middle.  He tugged the first one out.  It came unwillingly with a low, grumbling howl and spat out its own volume's worth of dust.  Percy coughed and gasped for clean air, then pulled off his glasses for cleaning.  He saw a gleam, alien in the dusty drawer, as he put them back on.

            It was a knob.  A small brass knob rejected from someone's old dresser.  Except it didn't appear loose.  It sat upright, firmly attached to the drawer's bottom.  Percy fingered it and passed it off as some sort of sticking charm.  Why anyone would want to use it on a single knob was beyond him.  He pulled the drawer out further and tugged on the knob.  A small door opened, revealing a compartment about a foot in depth, theoretically passing through the middle drawer.  At the bottom was a thick reddish-brown envelope.

            Percy glanced at the front door and Dormand's wall.  No one seemed to be coming.  Then he pulled out the envelope and slammed the drawer shut.

            The envelope wasn't spectacular, neither old nor new.  There was no name or address, but the remains of a seal were still attached to the flap.  He turned the envelope upside down and dumped the contents into his lap.

            The Head Boy in him wasn't pleased.  Percy was invading someone's privacy.

            Yeah, well, it was his desk, another part of him replied.

            There were three pieces of parchment, clean and displaying no sign of intense reading.  A fleeting look at the date of one told him it was about two months old.  He skimmed the rest of it, not really reading.  There was an ink splatter here and there; next to one was The Order of the Phoenix.

            Then the door flew open.  "I'm back!" Winston Morsley sang.

            Percy swore and buried the envelope in Valentine's report.  "I'm so glad for you," he muttered.

            Morsley raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  "Secretary", Percy distinctly heard him say under his breath.  The enthusiasm for friendship was clearly gone.

            "I finished Valentine's report," Percy said.  "Is there anything else I need to do?"

            "She'll be back soon with more notes, I bet," Morsley replied.   He had returned to the doorway, eyes intent on the street outside.  "She quite loves those dragons, the nutter."

            Percy knew the feeling.  His elder brother Charlie had born the obsession for as long as Percy could remember.  

            "Oh!"  Morsely spun back to Percy.  "Dormand said someone from St. Mungo's might stop by to bug him about research areas.  Did anyone come?"

            Penelope again. "No," he lied.

            "Hmm.  Well, I'm off again.  Got important stuff to do.  I'll take Valentine's report with me."  Before Percy could stop him, he had whisked the stack from the desk and was out the door.

            The envelope had been in that stack. Percy considered summoning it, but there was no real point.  Let Valentine get blamed, if indeed there was anything deviant.

            Yet it left him with no means of entertainment.


	5. Letters and Patients

Shout outs!

Jenny:  You live in Lindon?!  Dude!!!!  We're practically neighbors!  Except I'm at school in Idaho right now.  But when I go back for Thanksgiving we'll be practically neighbors!  I'm glad you like snoopy Percy.  I didn't intend him to be that way, but that's what happened and I'm quite fond of him now.

Crystal Lightening:  Thanks! I'll try for longer…. I'm not really good at long chapters, though.  But I'll try for you!

Nkittyhawk: I don't hate you. I liked the story.  And the envelope… since you're being so impatient, you'll NEVER now!  *cackles madly(

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of Rowling's works bladdly blah blah.  Heck, I don't even own the computer I'm typing this on. I'm on campus.

And on with the story!

            Percy had just barely settled back into the chair, slightly perturbed at losing the envelope, when a door materialized on the wall.  It flung open loudly, and out ran Matthias Dormand.  He must have been in the middle of something when panic had struck him; he still absent-mindedly clutched a paper in his hand as well as his wand, the latter ready to conjur.  His face was a distorting of ash and too much blood, his eyes much too bright.

            Percy wasn't sure what to make of it.  He hadn't known the man long, but. . .  he seemed disturbingly out of character.  Sometimes that meant nothing, other times. . . the face of Crouch sprang into his mind.  Perhaps he should call someone.  But no one else was around.

            Dormand suddenly remembered the new employee, for he paused, turned around and took a deep breath in an obvious effort to calm himself.  "If you're finished, Mr. Ignatius, you can leave now.  I expect you back here tomorrow morning.  Normally I'd find something else for you to do, but I've urgent business to attend to which Mr. Morsley has just notified me of."             Morsley had been watching for something.  Clearly he had seen it.

            "I gave him Valentine's finished report, sir," Percy said automatically.  Damn.  Protocol over a man whose heart was nearly jumping out of his chest. 

            "Good, good. I'm sure you did a fine job."  With that, he was out the door.

            Percy remained at the desk for several minutes, staring blankly at patterns in the woodwork.  Something wasn't right. He had felt this way during all those times with Crouch, but had just shrugged it off.  Because Mr. Crouch was his superior.  Because Mr. Crouch was always correct.  Whatever Mr. Crouch said was holy writ.  He bit his lip and stood up.  This was a completely different situation, one that was, this time, none of his business.

            The afternoon was in full bloom, the sun too hot on his drawn hood.  He ignored the discomfort as he made his way down the street.  No one was in sight.  

            Someone was waiting at the tent when he arrived.  An elegant screech owl, a letter tied around his talon.  Percy couldn't help but smile. "Hermes," he called. "I haven't seen you in days."

            Hermes hooted proudly and swooped to Percy's shoulder, displaying the letter.  Percy's smile faded. He already knew whom the letter was from.

            "Dear Percy,

                        I received your last letter.   Very short, as usual, but I guess I don't send you long ones, either.  Anyway, Hermes is surprisingly good at finding us.  If you ever want to find us, he'll know.  I'm not sure how the rest of the family would react, but I'd be glad to see you.

            School is going to start soon, and I'm excited.  I'm still a Chaser—that's the position that usually handles the ball, since you've always completely ignored the sport.  Ron is now completely over his keeper-phobia.  So, yeah, over all it should be an excellent team. 

But the main reason I'm excited to go back is just because Hogwarts feels so safe. It's one of the few relatively safe places anywhere. I don't know what it's like where you are (where are you, anyhow?) but it's terrible here.  Everyone just wants to get away, but there is really no place to go.  Which is why I don't believe you attacked Dad.  You're my big brother, and no big brother of mine would support Voldemort.  Even Dad is doubtful.  I think. He still loves you, I hope you know.

Anyway, I don't want to say too much.  It's dangerous.  I hope to hear from you soon.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                                Ginny

Percy read the letter several times, memorizing it, before crumpling it up. Part of him didn't want to be writing to Ginny. She was the one who started it, after all.  He didn't even know why he kept replying—a force of habit?  Their communication was sparse as it was.

Penelope couldn't make up her mind.  She sat her bed, parchment, quill, and a textbook in her lap.  The quill was even in her hand some of the time.  Once it even dipped itself (it had to have been the quill, for she couldn't it have done) into the ink bottle.  Several blots of ink were scattered over the parchment like spots on the Dalmatian her parents owned.  But nothing had been written.

But something should have been written.  She knew it. In fact, in a few minutes, something would be written!  She was screaming the command in her mind: "Write to the Order!  Write to Dumbledore!"

But somehow, it wasn't getting done.

Of course, he'd understand no major news.  Dumbledore had admitted it when, hearing she was traveling to the little village for research anyway, he had assigned her the little spy job.  It wasn't as if he was sitting around Hogwarts expecting a declaration of one of the Ministry-infiltrating Death Eaters.

But he wouldn't reject the declaration, either.  She took a deep breath and told her hand to write something.

"PENELOPE!"

She screamed, the materials flying from lap.  The ink bottle landed on her roommate Pearl's robe which was lying on the floor.  Good thing the bottle had a no-spill charm on it. 

Pearl darted into the room, her face flush.  "The window!"

Her natural curiosity ablaze, Penelope rushed to the window with her friend. "Who are we spying on?"

Pearl pointed to a small group approaching the tavern.  "Them," she whispered.  "It's Mr. Dormand."

Penelope squinted for a better look.  Yes, it was Mr. Dormand—whom she still needed to speak too—and another man she recognized as Winston Morsley.  They had their wands out, guiding something before them. . . heading for the tavern….

She and Pearl gasped in unison.

"Downstairs," she commanded.  "Apparate."

They apparated at the doorway just as one of the Healers-in-training was opening it.  

The man in the floating stretcher was a mess.  Dried blood covered his face, and his robes were but rags somewhat hiding what were obviously burn marks and more blood.

Penelope was too good a Healer to be disgusted. "What happened?"

"Healer Asa Cortez," Dormand commanded. "I need to speak with her."

Asa appeared almost instantly, running up to the door, her graying hair even messier than earlier. "Ay de mi!  What happened?"

"His name is Brogan Marchent," Dormand said.  "I need you and your students to take care of him."


	6. First Healing

"Él ha ido por infierno!" Asa Cortez exclaimed as she motioned Dormand and Morsley to bring Brogan Marchent in. "But I have seen worse. We can clean him up muy rápido." Her dark eyes caught sight of Penelope and Pearl, instantly commanding them to go wash up without any words.  
  
Penelope was unnerved. She had seen the look on Asa's face. She trusted Asa-Healer Cortez was one of St. Mungo's finest. But the terror that had swept over her kind old face did not generate much confidence. Oh, Marchent would be fine. But Asa, of all people, wouldn't have expected to see such an injury out here.  
  
Pearl seemed to hear Penelope's thoughts. "There are dragons around," she said simply. "Accidents do happen."  
  
"I guess we should have seen it coming," Penelope agreed. But the fear remained with her as she helped prepare a place of Marchent and pulled out the necessary spell books. Dragons. Dumbledore had mentioned them, even after the mandatory warning of St. Mungo's. These people were out here for a reason. Her urge to write to the Order doubled.  
  
As a precaution, Asa had prepared one of the rooms of the tavern as a healing room. Just in case something would happen. They were Healers, or were going to be, and needed to learn to always look ahead. It wasn't much, just a small corner room with tables and a cupboard full of potions. But it would do. Dormand and Morsley motioned the stretcher over the table before letting it fade. Marchent gave a low groan, the first sign that he was still alive. Asa muttered something to herself, yelled at someone to get her such and such potion, and cast a cleaning spell over Marchent.  
  
"Whatever happened to him?" Pearl asked.  
  
The men looked at each other.  
  
"Dragon attack," Dormand finally said. "It does happen up here."  
  
"Don't you have any small hospitals?" Penelope asked. The question was stupid. Why have a healer's hut when it was so much easier to quickly move someone to St. Mungo's?  
  
"We usually don't have incidents like this," Morsley said quickly. "But it's dangerous as of late. . . there are many things out there.. . "  
  
Pearl giggled nervously, her face reddening. "Besides dragons?"  
  
"Oh, yes-"  
  
"Shut up, Winston," Dormand muttered.  
  
Pearl smiled at Morsley. Penelope winked at her. She had to agree with her roommate: this Winston Morsley was kind of cute.  
  
But there was something else. Dormand and Morsley weren't telling everything. The hesitation had made that quite clear.  
  
"Healer Cortez," she said suddenly. "Maybe he should be transported to St. Mungo's."  
  
Asa gave a sharp gasp, and even Dormand startled-a strange reaction for him. The two exchanged a look, barely perceptible. "It won't be so bad, chica. You'll see, when he is clean. Think of it as practice. Hands on experience. Una educativo hilly. Gavin! Continue this spell!"  
  
Dormand and Morsley turned to leave, now sure Marchent would be cared for. Yet the speed of their departure once again surprised Penelope. They were anxious-anxious to bring the poor man here and anxious to return to whatever they were doing.  
  
I shouldn't pry, she thought. At least not while I'm working. There will be plenty of time for that later. So she stood where she was, watching patiently, mentally copying everything Asa said of burns and cuts.  
  
Asa was correct. Sort of. The injuries weren't quite as bad as it had seemed, once the blood had been cleaned away. But there were many, more cuts than burns thankfully. The cuts were not exactly mere scratches, but he would live and a little salve should prevent scars. The dragon had indeed had fun with the man. No one said so out loud, but the question was still there. Was Dormand sure it was a dragon? Of course there were burns, but burns could come from anything. Things weren't always as they seemed.  
  
Why did Percy suddenly invade her thoughts? She bit her lip and concentrated on the healing.  
  
An hour passed before Asa declared the patient ready for rest. He was breathing now, looking more asleep than dead.  
  
"Well, now," Asa said with the cheeriness of someone who had done nothing more serious than garden. "Wasn't that fun?"  
  
A few people actually dared laugh.  
  
"You wouldn't be laughing were it you, insensible niños. Who would like to clean up?"  
  
Penelope found herself volunteering. She wasn't sure why. To keep her mind off Percy? To see if Brogan Marchent would regain enough awareness to tell her anything? Neither reasons came to action. She hummed to herself as she tidied up, but there were too many questions. What had happened to Brogan? Should she contact Dumbledore? And what should she do about Percy?  
  
She had just finished when Brogan stirred and groaned. She flitted to his side and grabbed his hand. Warm. He was doing better.  
  
"Mum?" he murmured innocently. His eyes remained closed.  
  
Penelope gave a small laugh. There was something charming about a patient calling for his mother. At least a patient who would be fine.  
  
"Just the healer," she said softly.  
  
Brogan didn't take it in. "It's not a color, Mum," he whispered. "I told you. Brown's a thing. And a color. Color of redemption."  
  
A color of redemption? She frowned and stroked his hand. What sort of dream was the poor thing having?  
  
"It's not what you think, Mum," Brogan continued. "It's not what most people think."  
  
Percy again. Damn it all to hell, couldn't he get out of her thoughts.  
  
"It's not what most people think at all, Mum. Brown isn't. Dormand isn't. But there is a lot of death. Huh? I'd love some biscuits, Mum, thanks." He gave a weak smile and drifted back into deep sleep.  
  
Penelope held his hand only a few moments longer, but it felt like decades. She squeezed his hand, her own heart squeezing and pounding as well. She didn't even know what he had been talking about in that fevered dreams. There was no sense to it. And it meant nothing to her, whatever it was.  
  
But the words had affected her. She couldn't believe what she was going to do. 


	7. Percy's Story

Lookie!  This is the longest chapter I've done for this story yet!  Be ye proud?

Crystal Lightning: I  couldn't resist a cute dream.  Thanks.

Jenny:  Yeah, Hawthorne is irritating. But I still like him. I'll be getting to the functioning of Brown soon, don't worry.  Those letters Percy found earlier are part of it.  

nkittyhawk:  Thanks for reviewing all my stories! I'm sitting there writing this chapter and all these review alerts keep coming.  

On with the story!

Penelope remained in the room for nearly an hour, watching over Brogan Marchent and reviewing again and again her plan.  Which wasn't much of a plan as it was gratification to her own sick curiosity and a Florence Nightingale syndrome-induced request.  She hoped it would fade, the idea that Percy just might have been telling the truth, but it didn't.  It kept her from realizing the passing time until Asa Cortez entered and insisted she go do something else with her time, that the patient would be fine.  Indeed, Brogan had said nothing else in his dreams.

            She flew from the tavern and down the road, still a disheveled mess from the healing.  What did it matter?  Percy didn't deserve to see her at her best.

            The afternoon and subsequent evening had long since faded, and a muddle of clouds had covered the sky—it was different from the clear night of before.  The entire village was practically dead.  She pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she muttered, and a dim light penetrated the darkness around her.  Now to find out exactly where the monster was staying.  There were so few actual homes in the village—the tavern she was staying at was the only one of its kind.  Matthias Dormand had a house.  It would be so like Percy to throw himself closest to whatever dictator was in charge.  But somehow she didn't think Percy would be staying there.  So she wandered the road, hoping for some sign of locating him, until it led to the outermost edge of the village.  That's where she saw the tent.

            She laughed aloud, an unnatural sound in the quiet setting.  A tent, of all things.  It was the most un-Percy thing she could imagine.  He had lowered himself to living in a tent.  Not camping, but living.  Oh, but justice did exist!  Mood completely changed, she crept up to the tent.  It wasn't even a very good once.  It probably had an embarrassing bathroom as well.  Ducks or frogs or something.  Restraining another derisive laugh, she lifted the tent flap and entered.

            It was even better than she could have hoped for.  A couch actually in the kitchen!  Upon it lay Percy, asleep.  He was still in his robes.  He hadn't even removed his glasses.  Or his hood.  Penelope crossed the floor and ripped the hood back.  With a cry, Percy sat up.

            "I need to talk to you," she said stiffly.  

            Percy straightened his glasses, which had been knocked askew.  "P-p- Penny!  What are you doing in here?"

            She cringed involuntarily.  The situation was almost frightening.  She was alone in a tent with Percy, who was, by all accounts, a Death Eater.  And someone she had once cared for deeply.  The light from her wand danced over his face, his glasses, that horrible scar. . . She swallowed.  "I need to talk to you," she repeated with a hiss.  "And don't ever call me Penny."

            He returned the glare and fixed his hood. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

            She sniffed.  "As if you care about appearances any longer.  We're not prefects at Hogwarts anymore. I can do whatever the hell I want."

            "You didn't want to talk earlier.  Why the change of heart?"

            "I'm going to be reasonable.  I was a Ravenclaw, after all.  It's only fair that you tell your side of the story."

            Something inside of Percy twisted painfully.  He hadn't expected this.  He really didn't have a story prepared.  And here was Penelope, asking for one.  "You sure you want to know?"

            Of course she didn't want to know.  She didn't even know why she was here.  Brogan had been speaking nonsense.

It's not what you think, he had said.  It's not what most people think.  

Who was she kidding?  She had spoken with Arthur Weasley.  She knew what happened.

"Of course I do," she finally said.

Percy signed and ran a hand through his red hair.  "Do you want to sit down?"  Proper etiquette had set in.  Was the damn stuff built into him?  He scooted over, leaving most of the couch for Penelope.  After a moment's hesitation, she quickly sat down on the most opposite end.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asked.

The question was sudden for both of them.

He stared at her a moment, then laughed bitterly. "Depends on your definition."

She sprang to her feet, her face pale with shock.  The wand, still lit, dropped to the floor.  "You're not serious?" she screeched.

"You've heard the news; this isn't necessary," Percy snapped. "You said you wanted to hear.  Sit down and listen!"

Now that was the old Percy.  Without thinking, Penelope scowled and obeyed.

"I was never in The Dark Lord's inner circle, if that's what you mean," he said softly.  "The Ministry was so corrupt anyway, with so many Death Eaters worming their ways in.  Then Fudge admitted it, that the Dark Lord was indeed back.  And after all those months of denial."  He shook his head.  "What was the point after that?  The Minister of Magic didn't even know what was going on."

A wave nausea washed through Penelope, and she fought another impulse to run.  "So. . . so you did try to kill your father?"

"That's part of the lie you've been fed.  I can't believe I'm just sitting her, letting you accuse me."  He folded his arms tightly over her chest. He really didn't want to continue.  Not with this story.  "My father was suspected of being in the Order of the Phoenix for a long time.  With me around, information was easy to pick up.  I admit it:  they got it all from me.  The Death Eaters thought they could somehow infiltrate the Order.  They even let me in on a little plan of theirs: One of them would pretend to be reformed, a repentant soul willing to give out information.  He persuaded my father to meet him one night after work.  My father would then be tortured for information, then probably killed.  I don't care what anyone thinks:  I don't hate my father so much as to let something like that happen to him.  So I went to the meeting place early.  Turns out I had outlived my use as well."

Penelope gasped, comprehension dawning on her.  "You were framed."

Percy nodded. "The Death Eater attacked from a hiding spot.  He was so well positioned that my father thought it was me.  He thought I was the one to kill him.  We fought." He ran a hand over his face. "That's where I got this from."

"And the Death Eater summoned the authorities and you ran," Penelope said softly, finishing the story.

He gave her a look somewhere between fury and gratitude.  "Happy?" 

She felt even more ill than before.  "You just. . . left?  You didn't even try to defend yourself?" 

"What was the point?  For all intents and purposes, I had joined Voldemort."  He thought of the scars marking his wrist.  She didn't need to know about that.

"You're a coward," she hissed.  "You found out you were wrong, and backed out."

"What was I supposed to do?!" he shouted.  "What other choice was there?  Go crawling back to my family after fighting against what they believed in?  I wasn't going to be on the wrong side again, with Voldemort back!"

Penelope opened her mouth, probably to scream something, but quickly closed it. Then she turned and marched from the tent.

Percy sunk to the couch, panting.  He had done it.  It was all out.  Fatigue overwhelmed him, then sickness, and he had barely enough time to stumble to the bathroom before vomiting.


	8. Apology and Conspiracy

"I'm sorry for how I behaved last night."  There was little remorse in Penelope's voice, just enough to make for evidence that she was sincere.  Sincere, brave, and determined.  She had waltzed right into the office with that line as her immediate greeting.

            Percy could only stare at her, his hand still clutching a ragged quill.  Again he was struck by how pretty she was.  That, and the memory of her actions of the prior night.  It had been is fault, he decided.  It was all up to him to tell his story, and he had.  She had possessed every right to act the way she had.  

            Penelope met his eyes, her face expressionless.  "I really am sorry.  I didn't expect what you told me."

            A little more empathy had weaved itself into those words.  He felt his cheeks grow hot, and dropped his eyes back to the paper he had been working on.  Another list of notes from Valentine.  "There's no need to apologize," he muttered.  Why wouldn't she leave?

            Instead, she sat right on the desk itself.  "Percy. . . don't you feel bad about any of it?"

            He jabbed the quill violently into the bottle of ink.  "Of course I do."

            "You really should go talk to your father."

            "It's a bit late for that."

            She picked up the ink bottle and read the label with mild interest.  But her eyes had lost the deadpan visage and were now nearly fiery.  "I should have said this last night.  You were. . . nearly innocent.  You don't have any dealings with the Death Eaters anymore, do you?"

            He had never wanted those dealings.  "I didn't have a choice."

            She slammed the bottle down, splashing ink.  "Only cowards say that.  You just didn't want to say you were wrong."

            Something inside of Percy snapped.  He was on his feet before he was aware of it.  Penelope, surprised, leapt from the desk.

            "You and that temper," she hissed, her blue eyes flashing.  She wasn't scared; she was daring him to make a move, challenging him.  

            He wouldn't prove her right.  Face burning, he lowered his hands. "This isn't going to turn out like last night, is it?"

            A cool smile spread over her face.  "Maybe more violent.  I just wanted to apologize.  For the last time, I'm sorry."  She brushed the brown curls from her face and marched out the door.

            And their relationship had not improved any.  Percy slammed the chair underneath the desk and took after her.  "Penelope!"

            She stopped near the corner of the building.  "Yes?" she asked in the same cool voice.

            "I'm sorry, too."  He did not know what he was apologizing for.

            "You know, I dumped you because you were so. . . "  For the first time that day, something akin to fury billowed into her face.  "So damn bigheaded and selfish!"

            The words stung.  She had said them to him before, and the pain they inflicted had not abated.  He didn't let it show.  "I had to look out for myself."

           "Yes, well, an apology is good to hear from you.  Makes you seem almost human.  Now I have work to do.  Unless, of course, Mr. Dormand is in.  I'd much rather speak to him than a Death Eater."

            "He's. . . "  Damn.  He sounded like Crouch's little go-for again, making excuses.

            But at that moment, Dormand decided to make his appearance.  He strode quickly up the road toward the building, talking animatedly to a wizard Percy had never seen before.  He was old, older than Dormand, and completely bald except for a long, silver, and rope-like mustache.

            Penelope raised an eyebrow with an air of sarcasm. "Wow.  You really can be helpful when you want to be.  I'll go speak to him.  Mist—"

            Dormand clearly didn't plan on noticing her.  He and his companion stomped right past Penelope and Percy and through the door.  ". . . doesn't matter he saw those letters," Dormand was saying.  "He won't do anything anyway.  Wouldn't dare."

            The letters from the desk.  Percy grimaced.

            Penelope noticed. "Letters?"

            "It's nothing. . .it's."

            "They seem to think it's important."  She darted past Percy to the doorway, which had remained open.  Thoroughly disgusted, Percy followed.

The two men had paused before Dormand's office door. "I really don't care how unimportant you think this Ignatius man is!" the new man was saying—more appropriately yelling—at Dormand.  "The Order has their ways of spying, almost as much as the Dark Lord!"

Dormand was considerably calmer and watched his companion with near-contempt. "You grow paranoid, Jason.  The Order of the Phoenix doesn't have any idea of our existence, of my existence."

"Those healers and their students from St. Mungo's.  What of those, Matthias?"

"Blissfully ignorant healers and students.  Don't worry about Ignatius—where is he, I wonder?  But my men, they love me, they'll do whatever I command."

Jason's anger abated somewhat.  "You're certain?  You know for a fact that no conspiracy is being carried out under your nose?  The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased if your little operation out here suddenly experienced a mutiny."

"Brogan Marchent is still unconscious, according to Asa Cortez."

Jason actually chuckled, his brown eyes crinkling with mirth. "Your story was a dragon, I hear."

"It's not a complete fabrication."  He laughed and led Jason into his office.

Penelope whirled to Percy.  "What was that about?" she said accusingly.

Percy was just as shocked.  He stared at the door, which was now fading.  "I. . . I didn't know anything about it.  I. . . You don't suspect me!"

"Ignatius is your middle name," she mused. "So. . . you read some letters?"

"I didn't read them. I just glanced at them and stuffed them inside a report."

She wasn't satisfied, and continued to study his face, watching for any signs of lying.  "Uh-huh.  What did you see in this 'glance'?"

"I don't know.  Something about the Order of the Phoenix."

"Oh, no."  The blood drained from her face, and with a small pop, she was gone.


	9. Another Letter and Brogan

            Shout-outs!

            Jenny:  You got to do "Romeo and Juliet"?!  That would have been fun to be "Nurse".  Teehee.  Happy Birthday!  I can't sing the happy birthday song cuz it's copyrighted, but I did something else for you besides giving you an update, if you wanna read the chapter….*giggles*

            Hydraspit:  Thanks!

            Nkittyhawk:  Who needs sanity?  You'll find about the envelope… pretty soon, if my plot judgement is correct.

            Crystal Lightning:  Ooh. . .Penelope's acting like you?  Cool… I love it when people relate to my characters.

Penelope Apparated into the room and immediately dove at the parchment and ink bottle still next to her bed, having been forgotten in the excitement of the prior evening.  Well, she needed them now.  Any doubts she had previously had concerning writing to the Order were gone.  For now she had something to write about.  She jumped on her bed, a text book displaying the parchment on her lap, and jabbed her quill into the bottle.  She watched several drops ooze onto the parchment before letting the words rush from her, writing almost faster than she could think.

            Brown.  Little more than a fierce and quirky petty organization bent on saving, of all things, dragons.  Charming in its own, people thought.  One had to admire an entire village that, despite a surprisingly small size, would attempt such an upright thing.  A smile came unbidden at that thought.  They had declared themselves to be protecting dragons.  From what?  Being assimilated, imperiosed, into some fantastic army devoted to the services of Lord Voldemort?  It sounded like a front-page story of "The Quibbler".  She had laughed along with everyone else when she had heard that excuse from the also-chuckling Head Healers.  She had half-expected someone to jump out with a rousing "You're on Candid Camera!" like on that show she had watched as a child with her family.  Certainly the villagers were nut cases, but the Healers had always considered them harmless and ignorable in most cases.  Even Dumbledore had not been too concerned with the bunch when he had given her the assignment.

            Good grief, how wrong they had all been!

            The muscles in her hand were throbbing.  Penelope let the quill fall from her hand and took a deep breath.  The ink was still glistening on the parchment.  She frowned.  Not her finest handwriting, but she had been so scared.  Panic did strange things like that to people.  Like that basilisk incident five years ago.  She hadn't panicked then, of course.  Yes, she was a "mudblood" as that nasty Malfoy punk had said.  But she hadn't thought the creature would attack a prefect.  She flicked at a particularly large bubble of ink, smeering it across the parchment.  Goodness, she had been just as snotty as Percy.  No wonder the relationship had seemed so wonderful then.  An idiotic match made in heaven.  Only. .. she had grown up, and apparently he had only grown worse.

            At least. . . at least he wasn't as bad as she had once thought for so long.

            Percy.  Why did he always have to invade her mind at these times?!  She again grabbed the quill, praying it would help her concentrate, and focused on what she had written.  A recap of the whole "dragon army protection unit" and the conversation between Mr. Dormand and that Jason man—only in not such words.  It was vague, very vague, and she could only hope Dumbledore would know what she meant.  She had mustered every bit of Ravenclaw writing talent to explain herself.  Still, if the letter was intercepted. . . she shook the thought away.  An entire system of mail delivery had been set up for such situations.  Yes, it took longer for a letter to get anywhere, but the system was so twisted and tangled that it was virtuously impossible to infiltrate.  And Mr. Dormand had sounded very sure of himself that no one knew what he was up to.  For all he cared, Penelope was just another healer-in-training sending a friendly letter or asking her parents for money.  She read the letter again before folding it up.  It was as much a hybrid of ambiguity and clarity as could be possible.  And it didn't mention Percy.  She had considered it, but had decided no.  As furious as she was with him, he had suffered enough.  He needed to make a move, but it was his move to make.  And he wasn't involved with Brown. He couldn't be.

            She prepared the letter, stuck it in the pocket of her robe, and went downstairs to find an owl.  A party was going on—at least, what counted for a party among the students.  It was Jenny's birthday, so someone had baked a pumpkin cake and conjured up some balloons for decoration.  The "partiers" currently sat around eating cake and talking.  The fact that there some people who were relaxed and not worrying about a threat to the Order was comforting.

            Pearl sprang from her seat as soon as she saw Penelope.  "You're back.  Did you talk to Mr. Dormand?"

            Penelope cast a glance at Asa, who too was taking time off for cake.  "Yeah," she replied. "I saw him."

            "Good.  Some of the guys have already ran out there to study the plants, but I Asa figures we should get permission eventually.  Have some cake."  She thrust a large piece smothered with frosting into Penelope's hand.

            "Mm."  She did like cake.  She took a bite and swallowed. "Thanks.  Are there any owls around?  I want to send my mum a letter."

            Pearl raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said your parents were Muggles."

            "They are, but they're used to owls.  Trust me."

             "Darren just sent out the last one, Penelope," someone called.

            "Damn."  The urgency to get the letter out returned.

            "Are you okay?" Pearl asked, cutting another piece of cake.

            Penelope sighed.  She didn't want others to panic.  Heck, they probably wouldn't even believe her, but then she would be labeled the freak.  "I'm fine."  She took another bite of cake to prove it.  "How's the patient?"

            "Asa was just with him.  Then Jenny insisted he should have some cake as well.  Yeah, he's awake.  Still a little woozy, but I heard he liked the cake."

            "He's awake?"  She scooped off some of the frosting with her finger and sucked on it.  "Good frosting.  I think I'll go see him."

            Pearl let out a giggle. "You think he's cute?"

            Penelope rolled her eyes but smiled.  "Yes, Pearl.  I'm crazy about him.  I'm suffering from the Florence Nightingale syndrome and am going to ask him to marry me while he's still out of it enough to say yes."

            "Great way to get husbands.  Marry them while they're unconscious.  Got it."

            Penelope laughed and made her way to the back room.  The table was gone.  Someone, presumably Asa, had gotten around to conjuring up a bed for Brogan Marchent.  He was sitting up in bed, eating a piece of cake.  Burns and cuts were still visible on his face, but evidently healing fast.  He was cute.  Blonde hair, brown eyes.  Good figure.  Maybe she should marry him while he was still woozy.  "Hi," she said.  "Feeling any better?"

            He managed a smile that was more grimace. "I guess so.  Cake helps."

            She circled his bed and fluffed the pillows.  "They said you had been attacked by a dragon," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Doesn't sound very fun."

            "Dragon?"  His voice rose slightly, and Penelope frowned.  He was either about to lie, or was genuinely confused.  "That's what they said?  Dormand and Morsley?"

            "Don't you remember?  You were the victim."

            Brogan's eyes were wide, and the color he had regained drained from his face.  "I. . . yeah, I remember.  Dragon attack.  We were looking at some nests.  Dragons don't take kindly to people messing with their nests."

            "No, they wouldn't."

            He took a deep breath and studied Penelope's face.  "You're trying to make a point, I'm sure of it."

            She laughed lightly and fluffed his pillow again. "I think you're lying."

            "Lying?"

            "I don't have any veritseram on me right now, but I think you're attack was a little different than your story suggests."

            Brogan's lips twisted into a small smile. "Really."

            Her hands fell to her sides. "Do you have something else you want to tell me?"

            "Like what?"

            "I was in here cleaning up.  You mentioned something in your sleep."  She stopped.  What did that have to do with her point?  "Never mind.  Like your real story."

            He was quiet for a long time, his eyes still on her.  His face changed during that time.  Confused, again.  Almost scared.  "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?"

            Now she was getting somewhere.  "You have my promise."

            "I'm not saying that Dormand tried to murder me or anything. I don't even think that.  It doesn't make sense.  But he's done some things in his past.  Like during the first war. . . . he really didn't do anything then.  But he supported You-Know-Who.  For awhile, at least.  Then he changed."  He gave a small laugh and shook his head. "I guess it doesn't make much of a difference out here.  I didn't grow up in Dragon's Tooth, but I grew up in the nearest town.  It wasn't much bigger than this place.  The wars don't much affect us out here, so it's strange when anything comes through.  That's why we're all so weird about the dragons."

            Penelope nodded.  "That's understandable.  Well, I suppose I should let you rest."  She turned to go.

            "One more thing."

            "Yes?"

            "I really don't trust Winston Morsley.  Or Valentine Munk, for that matter."

            Winston and Valentine.  She'd have to remember that.  "All right."  She left the room, thinking.

            Asa spotted her when she entered the main area again. "You've a visitor.  Chico." She winked.

            Percy was standing at the door, hood up.  Glaring at a giggling Pearl, she marched toward him.  "What are you doing here?"

            "You live here."  His tone was sarcastic and a little. . . embarrassed?

            "I do," she snapped.  "But why'd you come?"

            "I. . ."

            Her heart skipped a beat. "You didn't come here to confess to another horrible deed?!"

            He groaned and took a step back. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't plotting my murder or anything.  I just wanted. . . to tell you I didn't do it."

            "You already told me that," she said, but her tone had softened without her realizing it.

            "I wanted to make sure you believed me."

            She glanced back at the others.  They had all lost interest.  "Percy, of course I believe you.  You came all the way here to tell me again?"

            He didn't respond.

            She suddenly wanted to laugh. "You're unbelievable."  Before she could stop herself, she pushed back his hood and kissed him on the cheek.  "Now get out of my sight."

            He jarred back at the kiss.  "Oh.  Okay.  I need to get back to work anyway."

            She was just as surprised herself.  Why had she done that?  Well, she couldn't show anything else.  "Goodbye."  She slammed the door.


	10. You're so easy to hate

A week passed, a blur of paperwork, random commands from Dormand, and more Valentine than Percy could handle.  Not that he ever realized it.  He woke and ate and worked and slept, doing whatever he was told.  It wasn't a bad existence; he still knew why he had enjoyed such a life before.  He hadn't meant to slip back into it, and perhaps he hadn't fully done so.  Yet that was all there was, and he could easily hide in that life.  After all, it was the only option for him now.  

            There was something else, though.  The week passed by without any word from Penelope, but he still felt her kiss on his cheek.  It was a silly thing to think about; they had kissed before, and those kissed had been more than friendly pecks on the cheek.  But it had been several years. . .perhaps that was it.

            And, surprisingly, Dormand was on his mind.  Percy had almost begun to believe that the conversation he and Penelope had overhead wasn't real, for Matthias Dormand had slipped back into the comfortable persona he had shown upon their first meeting.  As for the letters Percy had seen, he didn't hear so much as a whisper about them.  For all intents and purposes, they did not exist and never had.

            So that was his week.  The usual work that probably mattered little, Dormand coming and going as he did, no sign of Penelope, and Valentine running in and out with lots of noise.  Sometimes Winston Morsley would appear, varying between obnoxious sociability and cold glares as greetings for Percy.  After a few days, Percy learned to expect such behavior from the man, and even found himself playing a little game where he would try to guess Morsley's nature-of-the-day.  There was probably a pattern to it.  As no one seemed ready to kill him, he let the letters and the conversation between Dormand and Jason slide.

            Penelope reappeared on the eighth day, barging into the office with one other healer and a blonde-haired man Percy had never seen before.

            "Hello," she said, giving him a somewhat friendly nod.

            Good sign. She didn't seem to hate him anymore.

            "This is my friend Pearl Hatch," she continued.  "And this is Brogan Marchent.  Pearl and Brogan, this is Per—this is Mr. Ignatius."

            Marchent approached the desk and shook Percy's hand, actually grabbing it before Percy was able to extend it. "Pleasure to meet you.  How are you enjoying working for Dormand?"

            "Stimulating," he replied vaguely, still surprised about the handshake.

            Marchent smiled, but didn't show the same jovial spirit.  "Good to hear, Ignatius.  Well, I guess that makes me your co-worker."

            Marchent.  The name stirred up a memory that took a few moments to place.  His first day.  Morsley and Dormand had been talking.  They had mentioned a Marchent.  It had sounded as if he had disappeared.  

            "I've been. . . out on business for the past while," Marchent continued.  He grinned and gingerly touched a small burn on his forehead.  "Ran into a little trouble."  He exchanged a long glance with Penelope.  Percy felt a shiver of jealousy.  "You didn't get that scar here, I hope."  According to Dormand's command, Percy had left his hood down.  "I doubt you'll now be exposed to so much yourself, though, sitting at a desk."

            Percy laughed.  Rather dryly, but at least he didn't have to push it. "I hope that's true. I take it that these two women are escorting you back to work."

            "Yeah. I told them I could manage a walk down the street, but they insisted on coming along."  His smile faltered as he glanced towards Dormand's wall.  "I should probably go speak with him now.  Pearl and Penelope, thanks." He approached the wall and opened the door that subsequently appeared.

            "Interesting friend you have, Penelope," Percy said tersely.

            Pearl shrugged.  "He was injured saving those dragons the lot of you are obsessed with."  She laughed.  "I find it quite appealing.  Penelope, I'll head back now."  With a toss of her hair, she was out the door.

            Percy watched Pearl until she had disappeared down the road.  He only registered that Penelope had not gone with her until he reached for his quill.  It was in the hands of Penelope, who stood right next to the dance.

            "I want to talk to you, Percy," she said.

            He stood up and pulled the quill away from her.  "Isn't that what you want to do every time you come in here?"

            To his surprise, she actually laughed. "Very true.  But I actually wanted to talk about that kiss."

            Why did women always want to discuss such things?  He felt his face go red.  "It was just a kiss on the cheek.  You did it."

            "I know."  Her face was red as well.  "I gave you that kiss because, well, you were acting at that moment how you used to act."

            He nearly dropped the quill. "I never used to act like that."

            "Well, no.  But close.  I suppose it was just nice to know that you weren't involved in something wrong.  For once."  She finished with a sudden and snappish rise in tone.

            "Hm.  So it's nice to know you don't completely hate me."

            Her expression and voice softened.  "Too bad you're so easy to hate.  Have a nice day."  She dashed to the door.

            He had blotted ink everywhere at that line.  Easy to hate?  What was that supposed to mean?  Did she or did she not hate him?  Despite the ambiguity, he couldn't help but feel hopeful.

            Dormand's door sprang open, and out stormed Brogan Marchent, muttering something under his breath.  He marched to Percy and, after a fleeting look back at the already-gone door, said "You really need to be careful.  I don't even know what's going on around here.

            Percy blinked. "Excuse me?"

            But Marchent's temper was swelling.  "They always teach you, when you're a kid, to give people second chances.  They even go as far to tell you that you are worth a second chance.  And later they tell you that even if you are forgiven, you're still changed.  The mark never completely goes away.  Well, that may be the only true thing.  Good luck, Ignatius."  With a loud pop, he apparated.

            Percy froze, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the spot where Marchent had just been.  Something had happened in that office.  Maybe Marchent hadn't shown any emotion until he had left the office, but something had happened.  And it wasn't any of his business, he told himself firmly.  He dove back into the papers he had, working furiously and subconsciously waiting for the sound of an opening door.  Sure enough, about forty-five minutes later, Dormand emerged.  

            He glanced briefly at the papers on the desk—there wasn't even enough time to take in what they even said—and grunted a "Good work, Ignatius."

            "Thank-you, sir."

            "I take you already met Brogan Marchent?"  There was a note of pride in Dormand's voice.  "He's one of my best men.  A brave one, very resourceful."

            "Yes, sir.  I hear he's been out for awhile."

            Dormand sighed and shook his head. "Very true.  Was attacked by a dragon.  Happens sometimes.  Just like you and that hippogriff.  Well, I hope you don't me wandering around this room.  I've really nothing to do."

            "Not at all, sir."  Percy suddenly wished he'd go away.

            "Just don't mind me. Continue on like I wasn't here."

            A very difficult thing to do.  Dormand seemed to prowl the room, yet his expression was innocent, almost oblivious.  Percy was almost glad when he heard Valentine's voice shouting for Winston Morsley an hour later.

            "What is she whining about this time?" Dormand asked with a nonchalant chuckle.

            Valentine appeared on in the doorway.  Her blonde hair was as frizzy as always, but there was something different.  Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.  "Where's Winston?" she demanded.  She noticed Dormand's presence. "Oh. Mr. Dormand."  She seemed to shrink back, fear clouding her face.

            "Miss Munk," Dormand replied calmly.  

            "I. . . need to speak to Winston."

            "I haven't seen him all day.  Sorry.  I'm guessing it's quite urgent."

            "My allergies are acting up," Valentine muttered.  "I might as well drop this off." She approached the desk and flung a stack of parchment at Percy, along with an almost pained glare.  "I'll be back later."

            Whatever was her problem? Percy wondered, picking up the parchment.  It wasn't another report, as he expected.  At least, not all of it was.  They seemed to be random notes, thrown haphazardly together.  He flipped through them, looking for some logic.  He then saw something that made him drop the stack.  The envelope he had found in the desk.


	11. Actual Explanations!

DISCLAIMER:  I just realized that I actually own all of the characters so far introduced in this story accept Percy and Penelope!  I also own the setting!  Yay!  But I don't own anyone or anything else.  Happy?

            Also, I'm sorry for not explaining anything earlier.  It's one of my weaknesses in writing.  But at least I'm doing it now, so you can't kill me.

It was the same envelope.  But it couldn't be.  Not after exerting all that effort to convince himself it wasn't real.  Percy closed his eyes, summoning the memory.  An envelope hidden in a drawer.  Remarkable only by its utter lack of peculiarity.   Strangely enough, the image of that envelope had imprinted itself upon his mind.  He opened his eyes and stared at the envelope.  Yes, it was the same one.  

            Dormand stood in the doorway, gazing down the street at some unknown object.  Probably Valentine.  "It's getting dark," he said, not wasting a look at Percy.  "It's not very efficient to leave the door open."

            Then why didn't the old fool close it? Percy thought bitterly.  Perhaps he could even leave before closing it.  He smiled somewhat. If only someone had heard those thoughts.  He, Percy, thinking of his boss as an old fool.  "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, getting from his chair. "I'll get it now."

            "How good of you, Mr. Ignatius."  Dormand's hand hovered over the doorknob, then dropped to his side.  "I suppose I should go drum up something from my office.  There has to be something for me to do.  We're living in dark times, Ignatius.  We can't let ourselves slack."  The office door appeared, and he stepped inside.

            And he had the nerve to complain about efficiency!  Percy marched across the room and slammed the door, then stood before it, daring it to object.  Then he returned to his desk and the envelope.

            It may have been the same envelope, but that didn't mean it held the same letters.  He hadn't gotten a proper look at them, anyway.  Biting his lip, he tipped the envelope and let the contents slide to the desktop.  Three sheets of parchment, none intensely read.  His heart sank as he recognized the handwriting and the ink splatters.  The date on one was the same as it had been last week.  Same letters.

            Again, the prefect in him wasn't pleased.  He wasn't supposed to be reading these.  It was an invasion of someone else's business.  And yet, came another tiny voice, Valentine had handed them to him.  She had made it his responsibility.  Yet he hadn't been the least bit curious about the conversation he and Penelope had overheard, so why should he become wrapped up in a few silly letters?  But Penelope had been intrigued by that conversation.  Maybe she'd be happy about these letters.

            That final thought did him in.  He polished his glasses on his robe and picked up the first letter.

            Simple correspondence it seemed at first.  He found himself strangely disappointed by the introduction of "Dear Matthias, How are you?" and a short paragraph on the health of the writer's wife.  After that, however, came something else.  He read feverishly though the letter, then the next, and finally the last.  His hand gripped the page so hard the ink smudged.  

            The prefect again:  This wasn't his business.  The Ministry:  It's probably all lies.

            He cast a fleeting glance at Dormand's wall, then stuffed the parchment back into envelope.  He had to find Valentine.

            He found her in the tavern where they had first met, a tankard of butterbeer sitting untouched before her.  Fresh tears poured down her cheeks, and she only gave Percy a small nod when he sat down across from her.

            He tossed the envelope on the table and found that the excitement he had felt had suddenly vanished.  He was in front of a crying girl.  It made the whole situation very awkward.  But he had to get it out.  He took a deep breath.  "You read these."

            She sniffed and met his eyes with sudden ferocity.  "Yeah, well, they were in my notes!"

            "Does. . . Dormand know?"

            Valentine shrugged indifferently. "How would I know?  And what difference would it make?  Winston handed me my notes back after you had gone over them, and I found the envelope."

            That had been the week before. "When did you find them?"

            "Today, about an hour ago."  The ferocity in her eyes become accusing.  "I don't always get around to things like that.  That's your job.  The dragons are more important."

            "Or were."

            "They still are.  I don't care if this was all crap;  at least I got to work with them!"

            The few other patrons were beginning to look.  Oblivious, Valentine continued to silently rage.  But Percy grimaced and grabbed her arm. "Lower your voice."

            "I wanna know how you're involved, Ignatius," she hissed, shaking him off.

            "I'm not.  I'm just. . ."  He sighed.   "I came out here and heard about a job.  I've been going through some problems—"  
            "Haven't we all."

            "—I've been going through some problems and I was offered a job.  That's my involvement."

            She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of butterbeer.  "Anything else?"

            "I may have slipped the letters into your notes."  

            She seemed to notice the other people in the tavern.  Discreetly pulling out her wand, she muttered a spell.  "There.  That little charm should keep people from hearing.  Where did they come from?"

            "I found them in the desk.  They were quite hidden, but I was bored and decided to explore."  He blushed;  the experience sounded ridiculously childish when told.

            Valentine gave a small laugh. "Wow.  Didn't expect that from you."  She cleared her throat. "But you don't know who put them there?"

            Percy frowned. "Besides Dormand?"

            It was her turn to blush. "I mean. . . oh, heck.  Whatever."

            "Did you know?" he pressed.  "You've heard about the Order of the Phoenix, haven't you?"

            "Somewhat.  Believe it or not, some information does make its way out here.  It's just that. . . " All traces of humor faded from her face. "I knew what that Order was doing, and while I knew—thought—Brown was focused on protecting these dragons from becoming Voldemort's soldiers, I figured we were all pretty much on the same side.  But we're just a lur.  Good grief, that's a ridiculous story.  Dragon armies?  Did you laugh when  you first heard about it?"

            "I. . . I really don't remember."  He picked up one of the letters.  "They're from Jason Gunnion.  I saw him last week, talking to Dormand.  Have you heard of him?"

            Valentine shook her head. "That's why I'm so worried.  I mean, I swear that I didn't know anything about this."  Another tear seeped from her eye.  "I grew up in a town about 30 miles east of here.  I heard all these stories about the dragons out this way, and I wanted nothing more than to see them.  About a year ago, Dormand passed through my town, recruiting people for Brown.  He wanted to protect those dragons from this imaginary altered Imperious curse.  I thought it was a dream come true."

            Percy watched her for a few moments.  He recognized the passion.  He had seen it in his brother Charlie.  The familiarity was almost nice.  He suddenly found himself feeling sorry for Valentine. 

"You know I'm new here," he said.  "But it seems from these letters that all you've been doing is busy-work.  Something to—"

"Something to attract the Order of the Phoenix," she finished. "I feel so damn stupid.  But that Gunnion guy wrote that we weren't supposed to be attracting that kind of attention yet."

"He seemed worried when I overheard him," Percy said, remembering. "Dormand was trying to assure them that the Order still didn't know about Brown.  And yet that eventually do want to get the Order's attention."

"They have to be plotting something."  Her eyes lit up.  Evidently she was intrigued by the idea of a conspiracy.

"Yes, but what?  You don't know if anyone from the Order has come around here, have you?"

"No, but. . ."  She locked eyes with him again.  "You're not from the Order, are you?  You seem quite excited about this."

"I.. ."  His voice trailed off.  He was being overzealous about this, he realized.  At least, more zealous than he had been about anything for a week of knowing Valentine.  "I guess I can't be neutral forever."  

"Neutral?"  She sighed and tugged at one of her blonde curls.  "That's what attracted a lot of people to Brown.  Some people don't want to be neutral.  There's no glory in it.  At least that's my take on it.  Dormand told everyone his life story.  He once supported Voldemort, back in the first war.  Then, he said, he changed.  Changed for the better."

Percy gave a dark laugh.

"I know.  But that's what he said.  He wanted to make up for what he did.  He said he was obligated to.  In fact, that's where the name of his stupid little organization comes from. He had this weird little metaphor."  She closed her eyes, thinking.  "White symbolizes purity.  Red is the color of sin. But even if you change and are forgiven, you can never go back to being white.  It's too late.  It doesn't mean you're still a horrible person. But you know too much.  You're no longer innocent.  Pink is still corruption.  But brown is the color of redemption."

He let the statement sink in.  "Different."  He wasn't sure what to think of it.  It seemed wrong for someone like Dormand to say.  Dormand was pretending to be good. It was all a façade.  He touched his left wrist.  Now he was being the hypocrite.  But at least he wasn't pretending to be some saint.

"It attracted a lot of people.  Damn propaganda.  I just. . . I just want to know Winston is involved.  He's very close to Dormand."

"Is that why you were calling for him?"

She smiled weakly. "I wanted to kill him.  He's the one who gave me the notes back with those Gunnion-Dormand letters.  You know, you should probably go back now. I don't want Dormand suspecting we know anything."  She reached for the letters, but Percy pulled them back.

"I'll keep them."    
            She blinked. "Oh.  Okay then.  And I hope for you sake that you really aren't in the Order of the Phoenix. I'm worried that if there was some sort of spy around here, and someone found out, they'd be killed."


	12. Confrontations

Percy did not know what to expect when he approached Penelope the following evening with the letters.  If it was none of his business, then it was certainly none of hers.  She had once held that same ideology, something that was no longer true.  So much had changed in a few short years.

But he knew her interest in the matter was deep.  She had asked about the letters before.  If he kept them a secret, it would be a secret that didn't last long.  Sooner or later, she would find out and probably accuse him of further Death-Eater activity.  He had received too much of that from her already.

Besides, he himself was already involved.

Valentine came in several times during the workday.  Dormand once nonchalantly asked her if she had spoken to Winston Morsley and she replied just as imperturbably that she hadn't.  Even Percy was surprised as her coolness. It was as if their discovery hadn't happened.  He still wished it so.

Another time, Dormand wasn't around.  Valentine still didn't say much.

How like her to forget the whole situation when he couldn't, Percy thought miserably.  "Did you even speak to Morsley?"

She flipped a blonde curl from her eyes and stared hard at him.  "No.  Should I have?"

Percy frowned. "Well, it would probably be safe to at least know who is dangerous in this town.  Like you said, Morsley is very close to Dormand."

A broad grin spread over her face.  "John Ignatius!  I'm surprised.  You actually seem intrigued by this whole thing!"

"I doubt 'intrigued' is the right word."

"Well, you at least have some interest."

Interest he really didn't want.  "What about you?  You were so upset about this last night."

She shrugged, the smile not slackening in the least.  "I suppose things always look better in daylight."

"As well as the prospect of confronting Morsley?"  He smiled to see Valentine's grin finally fade.

"I just think. . . I just think that's a task worst done alone," she said after a pause.  "If. . . if he is dangerous.  Not that I think Winston could be anything but harmless, but. . . you know what I mean.  If there are two people, there is a better chance of overpowering him if he does try something."

Percy felt a stab at something inside of him.  Probably his mother.  What would she think if she knew he suggested a lady enter a dangerous situation on her own?  He honestly didn't know the answer; he hadn't seen his mother since he had slammed the door on her face back in London.  He sighed, rubbing at the scar on his.  "You're right," he said more waspishly than he intended. "I'm sorry I said that."

"You don't sound sorry," she replied, her voice a mix of anger and remaining humor from before.  "But at least you agree.  Do you still have the letters?"

He nodded, patting the pocket of his robe. "Actually, I'm going to show them to someone else."

Valentine raised an eyebrow. "Besides Winston?"

"It's own of the Healers," he explained.  "She. . . she was with me when I overheard Dormand talking to Gunnion."

Valentine choked on air, her eyes wide with fury and amazement. "One of those silly little students from St. Mungo's is involved? Why didn't you say anything last night?"

"She's not silly!" Percy shouted.

Surprised, she went silent.  Then she began to laugh. "I think you fancy someone.  I think you fancy this young Healer."

"It's not a crush," he mumbled, his face growing hot.  "She used to. . ."  He was going to say too much.

"Used to what?"  Valentine leaned back against the small, smiling knowingly.  "So our mysterious stranger does have a past.  Fascinating.  Never mind.  We just agreed that both of us would speak to Winston, so it's only fair that both of us confront your girlfriend together."  She shook her head, frizz flying. "Tonight.  I'll be here when you get off, and we'll go to that tavern."

"You too are going to a tavern?"  Winston appeared, a roll of parchment under his arm, eyes wide and focused on Valentine.  "Why?"

Valentine and Percy exchanged fearful looks.

"He's taking me there on a date, Winston," she said dryly.

"You're dating the secretary?" Winston exclaimed, dropping the parchment. 

"I'm not dating her!" Percy announced sharply.

Winston glared at him, then his expression turned doubtful. "I hope not.  Besides, why would she date you?  Why would she date anyone?"

Valentine rolled up the parchment and handed it back to him, eyes fixed on his.  "Because there is absolutely no one interesting around."  

"Now?" Percy mouthed when she turned around again.  She glanced back at a very confused Winston, then shrugged.

She was utterly impossible. "Morsley," Percy said. "Miss Munk has something to tell you."

"I do?" Valentine squeaked. 

He nodded.

She took a deep breath.  "Winston, when you returned my notes the other day, there were some extra pieces of parchment inside.  Some letters."

"Letters?"  Winston's voice peaked at a curious tone, and his eyes dropped to the floor.

Valentine looked back to Percy.

The letters seemed to burn at his pocket.  He did not want to take them out.  "They're addressed to Mr. Dormand."

"You're reading his mail?"

That was something he thought he would never be accused of.  "They're from a man named Jason Gunnion.  They—"

"Stop," Winston said suddenly.

Percy looked up. "Excuse me?"

"I really don't want to hear any of this."

"Yes, you do!" Valentine snapped. "You know what we're talking about."

The blood drained from his face.  "I do?  How do you know?  I didn't actually read all of them."

"Did you show them to Dormand?"

"He's probably read them.  They were his.  Look, I really don't want to hear this.  Oh, I take back what I said.  They're not his.  It's too easy to fake documents anyway.  Goodbye."  He slammed the door behind him.

Valentine and Percy looked at each other.

"I told you he wasn't dangerous," she said.

Percy stared at the door.  "I'm not so sure."

That night, Valentine and Percy knocked on the door of the tavern.  It was answered by Penelope's friend Pearl.  She actually burst into giggles.

"I'm sorry," she managed to say. "We're in the middle of a class right now.  Very important.  Penelope can't see you."

"Tell her it's important," Valentine said.

Pearl seemed to notice the other woman for the first time, and the giggling stopped.  She looked back at Percy, as if asking for an explanation.  "I'll get her."

"You have a weird habit of always coming here," Penelope said indignantly when she arrived at the door.  "This was an incredibly important lesson, Healer Cortez will kill me. . ."  Her voice broke off when she saw Valentine. "Oh!  Sorry for the rudeness.  I just thought it was him.  You're Valentine Munk."

"Pleased to meet you," Valentine replied, winking at Percy. "I'm sorry I'm not acquainted with you."

"Penelope Clearwater.  I'm. . . an old friend of Per-, John's."  She cleared her throat.  "What have you come to tell me?  I'm sure Healer Cortez would be better suited to hearing it.  Let me get her."

"We wanted to speak with you," Percy said.  He watched her face carefully, looking for any hints of jealousy.

"Me?  With her?  I thought it was a message from Mr. Dormand or something."

"Sort of."  He pulled the letters from his pocket.  "I think you should read these."

"Are these letters you mentioned before?"  She grabbed them from his hand and quickly read them.  She finished with a gasp and looked up.  "And Valentine? You've read them?"

She nodded.  "Exciting, huh?"

"I suppose that's the word.  And you just gave them back to John last night?"

"With my notes.  Mr. Dormand was stalking the room, so. . .  Did he ever even leave?"

"Not till you left," Percy replied. "It was like he was waiting for you."

Penelope bit her lip, her eyes again scanning the letters. "That's strange behavior.  It's almost as if he expected it.  Remember when we heard them talking?  It sounded like he knew you read them.  Or someone had read them."

"Then why hasn't he done anything yet?"

"It would probably cause too much of a stir.  I believe he sincerely trusts you.  He believes you're not involved with the Order."

"And I'm not," Percy said defensively.

"Don't remind me.  He. . ." She glanced behind her. "You two, I don't think we should be talking here.  I'll pretend I'm going to gather plants. Or something." 

She went back inside to grab a basket and give an excuse.  She returned, shaking her head. "Asa actually wants me restock some of the herbs.  So we have to."

"I don't know if I can take that time out," Valentine said wistfully.  "I have a, er, meeting with Dormand in about ten minutes. I don't want him anymore suspicious than he already is.  Tell me what your thoughts later.  Penelope, it's nice to know we can trust you."  With another wink at Percy, she disapparated.

"Interesting girl," Penelope said, starting off in the direction of the woods.  "Your new girlfriend?"

"Don't insult me."

She managed a smile.  "I won't.  She didn't seem attracted to you anyway."

Percy darted to catch up with her.  "How could you tell?"

"I. . . I know what to look for."  Percy couldn't be sure in the darkness, but she might have been blushing.

"I didn't realize you were looking."

"Look."  She spun around, nearly hitting him with the basket. "I don't really want to talk about our exterminated relationship right now, Percy.  I want to talk about Dormand."

"I brought you those letters, didn't I?" he replied loudly.  "That's my contribution.  It amazes me you can't appreciate that."

She sighed and resumed marching towards the woods. "I do appreciate it.  It actually amazes me you bothered to do that.  How did it feel, breaking the rules?  And no one even got hurt this time.  Which is more than I can say when you actually follow the rules."

"I wasn't exactly following the rules when I tried to protect my father!"

"If you. . ." She sighed again, and her voice softened. "I'm really sorry I said that.  But really, I'm glad you showed me those letters.  It shows I can trust you on this."

He felt his temper lower.  "You can trust me on more things than you might think.  But why do you even care about this?  You're not in the Order.  You're from a Muggle family.  What does it matter to you?"

"Because it's the right thing, Percy."  They had entered the woods, and her eyes dropped to the ground to search for plants.  "Do you think you could pull your wand out?  It's hard to see. . ."

Grudgingly, Percy took out his wand. "Luminos," he muttered.

"Thanks.  Could you—"  She turned around and screamed. "Percy!"

Immediately something sharp and cold pressed itself against the back of his neck.


	13. Attack

This is incredibly, incredibly short.  Please forgive me;  I still have finals and zero time to write.  My next one will be super long, I promise.

Go see Return of the King.

The blade was sharp and deadly cold.  Percy shuddered as the metal bit into his skin.  Not deep, merely a scratch, but he could feel the blood trickle down the back of his neck.

"Brogan!" Penelope shrieked.  Her hand flew up, still holding the basket.  Then she let go, the basket continuing until it struck Brogan Marchent on the head.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Don't come any closer," Brogan hissed.  Percy recognized him now, though only barely.  Even the temper he had displayed the other the day was nothing compared to the growl he now gave.  Percy longed to look at him, to see precisely what he was thinking.  Brogan had seemed fairly respectable.  To act like this, why, that was unthinkable.  But Brogan now had a firm grip on his shoulder, and the knife pressed closer.

"Brogan, please," Penelope begged.  "This isn't funny."

"Oh, I think it's very funny," Brogan replied.  Would it be funnier if I killed him, Miss Clearwater?"

"What the hell is this about?"  Percy tried to sound calm, but his voice trembled even in his own ears.

"Don't talk!" Brogan roared.  His fist slammed into the side of Percy's head, spinning him into the ground. Somewhere beyond the red and black Penelope screamed.  "Put your wand back, girl!"

"Petrificus totalus!" Penelope shrieked.  "Petrificus totalus!"  It didn't seem to work, and she screamed again, her voice mixing with various curses spewing from Brogan's mouth.

That childish spell, Percy thought dimly, climbing weakly to his feet. Why didn't she try something stronger?  His own wand. . . he pulled it out and turned.

Penelope was on the ground, weakly dodging the spells Brogan threw at her.  He towered over her, his hair wild and his eyes bloodshot.  His face was skeletal, his maniacal smile threatening to tear the skin.  His wand was clutched in his hand, and seemed to quiver as he lifted it. "Avada—"

"CRUCIO!" Percy heard himself scream.  A bolt of light whipped from his wand and poured into Brogan.  With a howl, Brogan went down as his legs seemed to twist in on themselves.  Percy stumbled back, horrified at the image before him.  

Penelope pulled herself up, her face pale. "Make it stop. . ." she breathed. "Make it stop."

"Penelope," Percy began.

"Brogan is. . ."

Brogan shrieked again.

Penelope shuddered, ran to Percy, and whipped the wand from him. "I think he's under Imperious."

The shrieks stopped.

"Imperious?" Percy echoed, yanking his wand back.  "Are you sure?"  
"When Mad Eye Moody taught, or supposedly taught, he told my class to look at the eyes."

"I don't care," he snapped. "He was going to kill you."

She looked down, a sob escaping her throat. "I heard him.  But you can't. . ."

"He wanted to kill you!"

"I WILL KILL YOU!"  Brogan was back on his feet, wand in hand, screaming what Percy realized to be curses.  He couldn't hear them, couldn't deflect them.

A blast from Brogan's wand struck him with such force he couldn't breathe.  He skidded across the ground, the earth and rock scraping at his skin.  Something cool, rough, and terribly hard stopped him.

Before he blacked out, he heard a wolf howl.


	14. Remus Lupin

Hello! I'm going to wish you all a very Merry Christmas in the case I don't post anymore before Christmas. 

Note on this chapter: My kitten Marty actually helped write the first edition of this chapter, but while he is adorable as he about 90% fur, he just isn't that good of a writer. His idea of two lines of "1"s just wasn't doing anything for the plot or description. So I'm pretty sure most of Marty's inputs have been edited out.

  
  
  
  


"Crucio!" Brogan cried, flailing his wand like a whip at Penelope. She had no time to even attempt a defense before the flash of light struck her body and threw her to the earth. She tried to gasp for air; the wind was knocked painfully from her body. Then her arms were yanked backwards, forwards again. . .her legs were being twisted. Had she air, she wouldn't have been able to scream. The spider on Moody's desk. . . She had pitied it then, but not enough.

She had pitied Brogan.

She cried inside, begging for the pain to stop. She shouldn't have stopped Percy. He had only wanted to protect her.

Then the wolf howled.

At first, she thought it was herself, moaning. Maybe it was the sound a tortured person was supposed to make. But then Brogan spoke. "No!"

She wrenched her eyes open in time to see the wolf, large and grey, pounce into view. Yellow eyes gleamed like jewels, and another growl, deep and threatening, came from its throat. Brogan dropped the wand, his own focused on the wolf's. "No," he repeated.

The wolf attacked. With a flying leap it was on Brogan. Penelope felt the pain slide from her body and struggled to sit up. Brogan tried to defend himself from the wolf's muzzle, but without his wand, he was powerless. The wolf raised a large paw and swiped at Brogan's head. With a faint whimper, Brogan was out.

With a final growl, the wolf backed away from the unconscious man, seemingly surveying its work. Humanlike. 

The full moon peered through the tree tops. Penelope understood. She took a deep breath and spoke clearly. "Mr. Lupin."

The wolf turned his bright eyes on her. Yes, it was Remus Lupin. He approached her, trotting softly over the earth. The message in his eyes were obvious.

"I think I'm okay," she replied quietly, rubbing her arms. "Thank-you so much for stopping him. I take it the Order received my owl. I'm just glad they sent a were-wolf. And thank heaven you arrived just in time." She gave a weak smile. "Everyone's saved me tonight. You, Percy-" Percy. With a renewed rush of energy she jumped to her feet. "Oh, no."

Percy lay amid the trees about twenty feet away against a large boulder. Blood oozed from a large gash on the side of his head. His face was chalk-white, the scar crossing it eerily defined. 

"Percy," she whispered. She knelt at his side and grabbed his wrist. The pulse was there, and quite strong. "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you." She quickly conjured up a large roll of gauze and pressed it firmly to his forehead. 

Lupin had followed her. He froze near Percy, his wolfish eyes wide with surprise. And fury. 

Remembering the attack on Brogan, Penelope bent over Percy. "Mr. Lupin, don't hurt him. It's not what you think. He stopped that man before you arrived. He. . ." She shook her head and pressed harder at the gauze. "I actually stopped Percy from hurting Brogan Marchent. Not very smart of me."

Lupin glanced briefly at her as she spoke, but his still-fierce gaze returned to Percy. 

Remus was close to the Weasleys, Penelope realized. What was it like for him, seeing the one who had caused that family so much pain?

"He's not all bad," she found herself saying. "He's against Voldemort. He didn't purposely attack Arthur Weasley. He was trying to save Arthur." It sounded ridiculous coming from her mouth. Hadn't she had trouble accepting the story herself? "Look, he has told me everything and I must say that I believe him."

Lupin looked to her, questioning.

Percy's blood was beginning to seep through the gauze. "Lupin, I think it would be best if I got him back to my instructor."

Lupin shook his head. A weird thing for a wolf to do, she decided.

"Why not?"

He turned in the direction of Brogan.

"But. . .but he's still unconscious, thanks to you. He can't hurt us." She pulled out her wand and conjured ropes around Brogan. "There. Now even when he wakes up, he can't do anything."

He shook his head again.

She raked her mind for reasons. It seemed so much more dangerous to remain in the woods. Isn't that where she and Percy had been attacked? But if Brogan was under the Imperius curse, someone had to be around to put the spell over him. The only people around were in the village. The real attacker had to be in the village. "You don't want to leave because if anyone else comes, we'll have the advantage. We'll be able to hear them."

Lupin nodded.

She smiled faintly. "Good plan. I suppose Percy will be fine." Of course he would be fine, now that she thought about it. She had advanced in her studied far enough to be able to handle a little head injury. The blood flow seemed to be slowing as it was. She said a basic cleaning-and-disinfecting spell. He still didn't move, but faint color reappeared in his face. She lifted him up and rested his head in her lap to get a better view of the gash. 

Lupin continued to watch her.

"I'm trying to heal him," she said defensively. "He deserves that much, at least." She couldn't be sure of wolf facial expressions, even those of were-wolves, but Lupin seemed to be almost smiling. "You must think I'm insane, hanging around with a suspected Death Eater. But don't forget that I'm also hanging around with a were-wolf. You're not all that popular yourself, Mr. Lupin."

The wolfish smile grew larger, and Lupin curled up on the ground, still watching her and Percy. 

"He's been helping with the situations I mentioned in the letter. He's actually been a big help. Probably done more than I have. The wizard that runs this village, Mr. Dormand, is definitely in league with Voldemort. This Brown organization is out to destroy the Order. Percy's the one that found that out. He doesn't even care for the Ministry of Magic anymore, surprisingly enough." She pushed away a lock of red hair that had infiltrated the gash and gazed at Percy. There was something sweet about him when he wasn't awake. He was kind of cute. No. She didn't need to be thinking that way. She had already dumped him. That part of her life was over.

And why did she need to tell herself that?

She sighed and conjured up a bandage for the gash. "Thanks for trying to protect me."

There had been times over the past few years when she had really missed him.

A light breeze rustled through the branches overhead, then faded into nothingness and a fresh scent. The woods were awfully beautiful at night

  
  


Penelope awoke to the scent of something delicious. A small fire crackled happily in the path, the sparkle of a smoke-screen spell over it glinting in the morning sunlight. Lupin, no longer a wolf, bent over it, poking at bacon in a frying pan which hovered over the flames. He looked worse for the wear, terribly pale and thin-she had seen him post-transformation before. He smiled hesitantly at her, still eyeing Percy with some suspician.

"Long night, wasn't it, Miss Clearwater?" he asked. "I'm sorry to make you stay out here all night, but after seeing Mr. Marchent here attack you-" He nodded at Brogan, who sat dismally on the other side of the path-"I didn't think returning to the village was a safe idea."

"Good thing it was a full moon," Brogan said softly. "Miss Clearwater, I'm so sorry. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't gain full control."

"It's okay," Penelope replied, stretching. She had fallen asleep sitting up. Percy's head still lay in her lap. "I knew it had to be Imperius"

Brogan still looked sick. "I could have killed you. I heard my voice starting that spell and everything. . ."

"Many a talented wizard has suffered Imperius," Lupin said. "I'm just sorry I had to. ." He blushed and made a swiping motion with his hand. "Yeah. Well, do you know who did it to you?"

Brogan shook his head. "I have no idea. I was in the village, and I heard a voice I didn't recognize. Everything else is so blurry. How's your friend?"

Penelope glanced down at Percy. He still was unconscious, but the gash was healing. "He should be fine."

"Are you sure about him?" Lupin asked, pulling the pan off the flames. 

"I am. I told you last night, he's on our side."

"But that night. If he wasn't going to attack Arthur, how did he know someone would be there?"

She didn't answer. She stared at Percy.

"Penelope. . ."

She took a deep breath and met Lupin's eyes. "I don't know. I know that he's on our side now, at least for the most part."

Lupin's eyes glinted. "What do you mean by 'now'?"

Something choked at her throat. "He never said he had never been a Death Eater," she said quickly. "He said. . . he said that after the Ministry admitted Voldemort had returned, he didn't care anymore. I think it didn't matter to him anymore, so he just joined whatever side was the easiest. But he's not on that side anymore. I know that."

Lupin sighed and pulled a slice of bacon from the pan. "What makes you so sure?"

She shrugged.

"I understand you two used to be a couple back at Hogwarts. Are you sure your senses still aren't clouded by some remaining affection for him?"

Penelope gave a dry laugh and looked back at Percy. "Do you have any idea how much I've hated for him the past three years?"

Lupin chewed the bacon and smiled. "I see."

"I don't love him anymore, Mr. Lupin."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She didn't want to talk about this anymore. "These are the letters Percy found." She pulled them from Percy's robes and handed them to Lupin, who read them.

"Interesting," he finally said. His face was grave. "Brogan, have you read these?"

"I don't know anything about them," Brogan said. "I only became suspicious after my attack."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Do you still expect us to believe it was a dragon that attacked you?"

He shook his head. "I can trust you now. It was a spell, one I've never seen. I think Dormand hit me with it." His face reddened with hatred."

"Why did you claim it was a dragon?" Lupin asked curiously.

"That's what Dormand and Winston told us," Peneloped answered. "So it was a spell. And you just played along with it when we asked you?"

"I didn't know what else to do," Brogan confessed. "It was just after I woke up. I could have been wrong about anything I remembered."

Lupin sighed again and passed the pan around. "The Order will have to know about this, of course. Really, Penelope, when Dumbledore sent you out here, I didn't think it would become this intense."

She laughed. "This really isn't helping with my training." She gasped. "Oh, boy. I never returned from "herb gathering" last night. What are they going to think I've been up to?"

Brogan's mood pivoted as he doubled over, snickering.

"I take it you really are no longer under Imperious. Well, Lupin? Is it safe to return now?"

"I guess you'll have to go back sooner or later," he replied, looking in the direction of Dragon's Tooth.

"I'll help you take. . .Percy back," Brogan offered, confusion spreading over his face. "Is that his real name?"

"Yes," Penelope said. "I don't you should tell anyone else. Lupin, are you going to tell his family?"

Lupin didn't speak for several long moments. He shook his head. "I don't think it's my responsibility. I don't know what chaos that might cause. Is that fine with you, if neither of us says anything?" He groaned. "If Molly ever finds out, she'll kill me."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Second Healing

The village was barely alive as Penelope and Brogan trudged through it, still sweaty and disheveled from the chaos of the night. Penelope feared to even look in a mirror; it was silly to worry so much over appearance out there, in the middle of nowhere, yet she had always been rather... she didn't want to say vain, but she had always been taught the importance of looking presentable and polishing up one's good features. Yet there she was, robe ripped, dirty, stained with blood, leaves in her air... she was only glad Brogan and Lupin were the only ones to have seen her. Perhaps she could make it back to bed before anyone else arose-Percy would be fine, once she had him in a proper bed. Or couch, she thought, a smile playing at her lips.

Brogan said nothing during the walk, but stared ahead as he followed Penelope to Percy's little camp. She looked back at Brogan once or twice. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed, and the shaky frown had returned. 

What must that be like, she thought, to experience the Imperius Curse? To have no control of yourself whatsoever? Even in the worst of situations there would be some comfort in the knowledge that one still had power over oneself. And yet the curse could be fought, Mad-Eye's imposter had taught her that much. Why hadn't Brogan been able to fight it? It was an unfair question. He had said he had tried, and perhaps some people were weaker in such things than others. That didn't make them any less of a good person.

Or did it? What was she thinking, trusting Brogan? What had Lupin been thinking? Brogan... she involuntarily shuddered. Brogan had ATTACKED her and Percy. He had nearly killed her. And now she was letting him help with her ex-boyfriend? 

And yet if Lupin trusted Brogan... She had always trusted Lupin's judgement, when he taught, even after everyone learned he was a were-wolf, and especially when she joined him in the Order of the Phoenix. She didn't know what things the two men had discussed before she woke. She had to be fair.

But she couldn't help but feel some relief when they reached Percy's tent.

Brogan let out a low whistle. "Wow. He has been on the run, hasn't he? Remus told me Percy was wanted."

"You probably don't know the half of it," Penelope replied tersely, pulling the flap of the tent back. "Come on in. There's a couch he sleeps on. Pathetic, I know." She crawled in herself and stood for a moment, gazing at the tent's interior. Living in a tent. Rather sad. True, if she had possessed such a tent at the age of six instead of that Muggle Barbie pup tent, she would have been thrilled. She still found most magical tents impressive. But to be in hiding with one... it was pathetic. Well, it would have to do for the time being. She readjusted the cushions and motioned for Brogan to set Percy down. "Remember, please don't tell anyone his real name."

Brogan looked at Percy, then at Penelope. She couldn't read his expression. "I promise," he finally said, heading to the exit. Then he paused. "And.. . I'm so sorry."

He sounded sincere enough, and she found herself smiling. "Just forget it. Go get some rest."

He returned a smile, weak but natural. "You, as well. In fact, maybe it would be best if you lie low for awhile."

"I'm a student Healer. That's all I do."

"I suppose that's right." And he was gone.

She shook her head. Insanity was everywhere.

Percy murmured something unintelligible and shifted somewhat.

"I guess you're feeling better," she said softly, sitting herself on the arm of the couch. She pulled his glasses from his face. They were absolutely filthy. Well, Percy could certainly clean them himself. She folded them and set them on the floor.

The wound seemed to be healing fine. He'd certainly have a headache for the next week, though, but he deserved that, at least. Maybe nothing else, but at least that. She pressed her fingers against the soft bandage, then swiped down to remove a tangle of his red hair. He was awfully cute. She had always thought so. She had once wondered how a prefect would notice her. And a Gryffindor prefect at that. One that was a full year older than her. True, she had been a prefect as well, freshly chosen from among the other good little Ravenclaws. But that wasn't good enough, she had thought. But he had noticed her just the same. . . Some painful echo of a memory clawed at her heart. She had loved him, once.

Once, she told herself. Once. Past-tense. No more. She drew her hand back and stood up. Percy would be fine. She should return to the tavern before everyone woke up, if they hadn't already. She hadn't slept well that night anyway. The fatigue and excitement were catching up, and she'd be asleep on her feet before she knew it. Pearl and the others would have a hey-day with rumors if she didn't return. Every reason and excuse imaginable was available for her to run back to the tavern.

Percy stirred again, and she found herself back at his side. She owed him that much. She was a Healer, and it was her duty to be absolutely certain he was fine. And he had tried to save her life. He had protected her. He had fought for her-if a display of an Unforgivable Curse could count as fighting. 

But he had done it for her.

"You're so easy to hate," she whispered, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You're impossible. You'll always be that awful, boorish Percy Weasley that no one can stand." She didn't know what she meant by any of that. Something familiar rushed through her, something she didn't want to feel. She let go of his hand immediately.

Then she saw it. The sleeve of Percy's robe slipped back, and the flesh of his arm was apparent. A series of tiny scars, nothing alarmingly deep, covering a small circle of skin.

Percy's left arm.

Penelope's heart pounded as she took a closer look. It couldn't be. And yet he had said. .. What had he said? He had never been in Voldemort's inner circle? She believed that-not even Percy could be that awful. She ran her fingers over the criss-crossed scars. They were like paint, like a fence, a force to block something else that was far worse than few faint scars. A laugh escaped her throat.

"Percy, I can't believe you. You told the truth after all. And then you. . ." Her heart beat faster. "Death Eater. I was right to call you a Death Eater. The Dark Mark. . . it was here." Or perhaps it never had been. Perhaps Percy had been trying to prevent it from ever coming. She took hold again of his hand as the hot tears poured from her eyes.

"Penny?" Percy's voice was hoarse with sleep and pain. He lifted his head, brown eyes peering unfocused at her. "What-what are you doing here? This is completely against the rules. I. .. Ow!" He had tried to sit up-he collapsed back with his hand pressed to his head.

"You had a rough night," she replied softly. "Really rough."

He shuddered and took a breath. "I... oh, hell. That Marchent fellow. . ."

"It's all right. He was under the Imperious Curse. Lupin-"

Percy's eyes shot open from their misty half-closed state. "Remus Lupin? The were-wolf? He was. . . oh, no."

She brushed the flood of tears from her eyes and laughed. "It's perfectly okay, Percy. He won't say anything. To anyone. He promised."

Percy managed to sit up and stared at the wall, face again pale. "Marchent was insane. He attacked me. I hit my head. . ." He again touched the bandage. 

"I healed you, and you're welcome."

"Where are my glasses?"

She handed them to him. He gazed at them for a moment before sliding them on.

"They're a little dusty," she said apologetically. "Cracked in the beginning. I fixed them."

He nodded vaguely. "You... you're crying. Marchent didn't. . . didn't hurt you. He had you under Crucios. . ." He grabbed her hand with such intensity she cried out. He pulled away, gasping. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

He didn't realize she had held his hand only minutes ago. She flexed her hand. She could still feel his warmth. "I should probably go now, if you feel well enough. This probably isn't appropriate, anyway."

"I'll walk you out."

"Do you feel well enough?"

He shook his head, but his expression was stubborn. "I'll walk you out."

The morning was in full swing as they crawled from the tent. So much less dreary than the night, she thought. Mornings always were.

"You really were a Death Eater," she said, turning to him. She had to get it out.

Percy stumbled. "What?"

Fresh tears made their way to her eyes. "I saw them. The scars on your arm."

He grabbed his left arm protectively, almost defensively. "It's none of your business."

"Everyone will know sooner or later," she said. She could feel her heart, racing unbelievably fast, seeming spin through her body, making her dizzy. He stood only a few feet from her. "I cheated last time. Show me them again."

His grip seemed to lessen, but the flame in his eyes leapt. "You don't even want to understand."

"That's never stopped you from sharing things before. You never cared if anyone understood, if they even wanted to. Why can't you be that way now?"

"I can't."

She took a step closer. She was so close she could hear his ragged breath. "Show me. I'm sick of you being a coward, Percy."

A thin scowl twisted his face. "That's it, isn't it? It's always Percy the Coward, Percy the Traitor. Would it make you feel any better if I told you those things were true? Every name you or anyone else has ever called me is absolutely true?"

"It wouldn't matter. You never cared before. You were always above all of that. You had your brothers; you shrugged whatever they said off."

"Always the Ravenclaw logic." The scowl faded. "You weren't supposed to show up in my life again."

She took another step closer. "Nor you in mine. I dumped you for being arrogant and stubborn and blind to everything and everyone around you. That was supposed to be it."

His right arm dropped to his side, and he extended the left one to Penelope. "There. See what you want to see. The ultimate mark of stupid mistakes."

She didn't touch him. "Yet you turned back."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

She stared up at him, wondering what proper reply could be given to that. "You never heard me thank you. You. . . you saved me last night. I.. . thanked you when you were unconscious." It sounded incredibly stupid even before she spoke. "Several times."

Percy gave a dry chuckle. "You thanked me when I was unconscious?"

"Well. . . yes." She continued to watch him, all the while thinking how familiar this all was. Three years back, countless empty classrooms, when everything was okay.

And before she knew it, she was back there at Hogwarts and prefect years, all the time standing at the edge of a little village no one knew about.

Kissing Percy Weasley.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Girl Talk

Penelope didn't know how she managed to find her way back to the tavern. The surrounding village seemed to swim around her in a misty haze that had no connection whatsoever with time. All she could think about was Percy and that kiss, an event that replayed itself over and over again in her mind till she found herself opening the door of the tavern.

Pearl was on her in moments, eyes burning with mischief and a desire to scold. "Where have you been?!" The outburst drew the other students to the front room. "I mean, I waited up for you till about 3 AM. You have a story to tell me."

"Gathering herbs?" came a sharp voice. Asa Cortez pushed her way through. "Mentirosa."

She had to be blushing terribly. Penelope, smiling sheepishly, managed to lift her eyes to Asa's. The Healer's old face was gentle, a more mature version of Pearl's. "You're probably wondering where the basket is."

"Si, but it can be replaced." She took Penelope's arm and dragged her to the side. "I take it you made up with the boy? Soy muy feliz para usted, mi muchacha."

She felt the kiss again on her lips, and reddened further. "I suppose. I'm not really sure what happened, Asa."

Asa smiled, a quick, warm smile that vanished almost immediately as she glanced back at the other students. "¿Usted significa a comedor de la muerte?" she whispered.

Death-Eater. A sick feeling sunk into Penelope's stomach. She had told Asa the story of Percy's betrayal. But the incident hadn't been what she had thought it was. And yet she didn't need her trainer thinking her in league with the Dark Lord. She had just gained a reputation as a slut; what more would ruin her? She bit back a dirty taste in her mouth and forced a smile. "No, no, Asa. This boy. . . it's not the one I mentioned. It's a completely different boy. He works for Mr. Dormand. His name is. . . his name is John Ignatius."

"I see," Asa replied slowly, unwilling to remove her eyes from Penelope. "I'm sorry for the confusion. At least you have forgotten the other one."

Pearl stood a distance away, trying to listen. Penelope gave her a wink, hoping it would be interrupted as a promise for later conversation.

"The other one is far from my hand, I assure you." 

"Mm." The Healer didn't appear to even blink. "Well, I'm muy happy for you, Miss Clearwater. Just don't stay out all night again. And go take a shower before the next lesson."

A shower would be very nice. She gave a small curtsey. "Yes, Healer Cortez." She turned to follow Pearl up the stairs.

"Miss Clearwater."

"Yes?"

"Por favor reloj hacia fuera para se."

A warning to be careful. Pearl understood as much, and gazed at Penelope with fear. Penelope gave her a reassuring smile and ushered her friend up the stairs.

The room they shared was almost overpoweringly welcoming. Penelope had forgotten how tired she was. The little sleep she had wasn't the ideal of comfort. Her own bed seemed to call for her, neat and waiting for a sleeper. Unlike Pearl's, still unmade. Pearl let out a shrill giggle and hopped on her bed. 

"So," she said with a grin. "Spill."

"Pearl, you have no respect for privacy," Penelope replied, sitting down next to her. But she herself was grinning like some idiotic teenager-no, pre-teen-only interested in a kiss because it made for a juicy and bragging story. She had done that before, back at Hogwarts, in her dorm room in the Ravenclaw tower after a moonlight stroll and kiss with Percy. Some of her fellow students had thought him cute; it was a compliment to herself to be dating a cute older prefect, later Head-boy. "We just. . . kissed."

"Just kissed?" Pearl studied her. "Not the excitement I expected, but knowing you. . .hell, I'm surprised you actually stayed out all night. And kissing is lovely, don't get me wrong. Was it that boy from Dormand's office? John or something like that?"

John simply didn't suit Percy. "Yeah."

Pearl gave a shrill giggle. "I knew it. He kept coming over here, looking for you."

"Good grief, he did that twice." When had Penelope's life become the soap opera devotion of the entire group? Was no one else having a fling of any sort?

"He's cute. How did you meet him?"

She rolled her eyes. "I walked into the office looking for Dormand a week ago. This guy was there instead."

Her face twisted with a grin, Pearl batted a pillow. "One week is very fast for someone like you."

Yes, one week was fast, especially compared to the awkward month they had originally spent simply trying to speak to one another. Everything had been so different then.

"Penelope?" The humor slipped from Pearl's face, and the pillow fell to the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Okay?" She put her fingers to her face and with a surprise felt tears, warm and salty. "Oh. I'm. . . yes, I'm fine. I just. . ."

"What was Asa talking to you about?" The gossipy attitude had completely vanished. "She warned you about something. Penelope, are you sure you were someone? Romantically?"

The tears that had been barely enough to wet her eyes pushed themselves out as she gave a choking sob. It felt as if something cold had grabbed her heart. "Pearl, I can't."

"Asa was dead serious. I can tell that much. She was more than serious; she was worried." Pearl took her hand. "I'm worried, too."

Penelope shook her head and choked back another sob. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I mean, it's nothing for anyone to worry about. Just me."

Pearl's face relaxed somewhat, but she gave her friend's hand another squeeze.

Penelope wouldn't be left alone until Pearl was satisfied. But what was she supposed to say? Pearl, she knew, was against Voldemort; everyone was. But she wasn't in the Order; she was just a girl who wanted to become a Healer and wait patiently for everything to go back to peaceful oblivion. She didn't need or want to know about the true identity of John Ignatius and his Death Eater connections. She didn't need to know about the true nature of Brown and the danger of Matthias Dormand. And yet she was clearly worried about Penelope. But would Pearl panic at the truth? In spite of everything, Penelope did not want Percy's identity and whereabouts revealed. She stared at her lap, feeling the tears rush freely down her face, mingling with her rat nest hair. "I'm . . I'm in love."

Whatever Pearl had expected, it hadn't been that. All sign of shock was apparent and any breathing was not. "In love? With a guy you met a week ago?"

In love? Penelope was more shocked than Pearl. Had she just said that? Had she just drawn the conversation back to a giggly girl-talk fest? Mortified, she found herself nodding.

Pearl was torn between excitement and horror. "A week? No wonder Asa warned you."

"It hasn't been a week. I've known him for years. I used to date him, back at Hogwarts?"

"At Hogwarts? I don't remember a John Ignatius. Then again, I don't remember you. I was a Hufflepuff, and I think. . " They had discussed Hogwarts days before. "I was two years below you. But you were Head-girl your 7th year." She frowned. "I don't remember anyone called Ignatius."

"That's because it's not his real name." Damn. Everything was coming out.

"Not his real name? Then what is it? Maybe then I'll know him."

"I can't say. But. . . he doesn't look any familiar?" Chances were that Pearl had been aware of at least one of the Weasleys.

Pearl shook her head. "I have yet to see him without that silly hood."

Thank heaven for that hood. "He's amazing. Incredibly sweet, once you break him down. And a perfect gentleman. We were prefects together. That's how we met."

"And you've met up with him again?" Pearl shivered. "That's incredibly romantic."

"And he's even better now." Penelope was gushing, very unlike her. But she found that she couldn't stop and didn't even want to. "I didn't think so at first, but he's changed. Changed for the best. And I'm completely in love with him. Again."

And it was true. Percy had changed and changed again. The scars on his arm proved it. He didn't support Voldemort; he was against him. Every horrible thing she had thought of him was completely false. And she couldn't be more thrilled.

"I'm in love," she repeated, letting the words echo through her head.

Pearl laughed, care-free again. "I'm glad."

"I'm in love!" She jumped from the bed and slipped on the pillow Pearl had dropped. "Ouch. I think I'll go take that shower."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Musings and Surprises

After Penelope left, Percy managed to convince himself to hop into the shower. Goodness knows he needed something to wash off the sweat, dirt, dried blood, and who knew what else. The steaming water felt marvelous, almost threatening to wash him away into peaceful oblivion. He lost count of time as he let it pour over him. He could remain there forever and forget about everything: his family, the Ministry, Voldemort's return, Brown, The Order of the Phoenix, everything that was messing up his present life. Except Penelope.

His Penny. Even if she didn't want to be called that, she was still Penny. He still felt her; the morning kiss now seemed to be ages ago, yet still utterly tangible. It was embarrassing to admit that he, Percy Weasley, could be controlled by something as trivial as a kiss or a hug-a properly responsible human being would have more constraint than that. His brothers had once teased him about that, upon discovering he and Penelope were together. They found it incredibly funny that someone like him could have time for a girlfriend, that someone like him could even get a girlfriend. It was an utter anomaly. Even to himself he had to admit that it didn't make any sense. A girlfriend was something extra, a burden, something someone needed to fulfill themselves as if they weren't already complete. Shameful. So maybe he wasn't as perfect as he and everyone else thought. He had once had Penny. Was it too much to hope that he could have her again?

Somehow, he didn't think it was. He had even hated her once, at the end of his seventh year at Hogwarts when everything was falling apart, when she had approached him with the all-too-true accusation that he was selfish, heartless, and a thousand other things. But that hate hadn't lasted long. He had tried to see her again the next year, when he came to the Triwizard Tournament, but she had refused any contact but a cold stare across the room. That was it, her final judgement. He was no longer a part of her life, and he was no longer a part of hers.

But she came back. She even said she still hated him. At first. It hadn't just been the accidental meeting at the office; she had come to see him even after that. And the coldness eventually stopped. She had started conversations, she had shared her ideas. She wanted his help against Brown. Far be it from him to claim understanding of a woman's mind, but she seemed to see him differently now. He remembered the look on her face when she mentioned the scars on his wrist: relief, curiosity, and joy. His heart pounded just thinking about it. To her, the scars had seemed an answer, one with which she was terribly pleased. And she had demanded to see them again, like they were proof she had to be sure of it. And her reaction was the same. 

And, while he couldn't be sure of anything during the blurry moment, she had kissed him. That was the most important thing. She had kissed him. Whatever that meant, it had to mean something good.

He wished he could stand in the shower forever, but he had a job to get to, and showing up late wouldn't be impressive. Despite the dubious alliance of his boss-Percy had to laugh at that thought. So he convinced himself to turn off the water and get ready for work. The froggy theme of the bathroom suddenly didn't seem so awful. The smiling green frogs were rather cute. Wow. Something was seriously wrong with him. Or right. Humming to himself, he got dressed. 

He was about to leave when he spotted something lying half-invisible in the corner. Ginny's letter from the previous week, the one he had never decided to whether to reply to or simply forget. He stared at the crumpled ball for a long time, then picked it up and smoothed it out. His sister's familiar handwriting, cutesy and complete with hearts for dots, still shown strongly despite the wrinkled parchment. He read the letter several times. He had always cared for Ginny; that was the necessary role of the big brother. All of his brothers had, for Ginny was the only girl and the baby of the family. She was there fore them to protect and take care of. What kind of creep was he to leave her? And yet, what kind of example had he been for her? At least he owed her another letter. He still had a few minutes before he had to be at work. He didn't have to be super-early everyday. He found a piece of parchment and addressed it "Dear Ginny."

His quill froze above the comma. What exactly was he going to put? If he replied to Ginny's implied questions, well, that wouldn't get either of them anywhere. With a deep sigh, he resumed writing. He said the usual, that he was fine, how was she, was she still excited for school-it was to be her sixth year. He thought about mentioning something of Brown and the issues at hand, but owl post was too dangerous, especially if Ginny and the rest of the family were still in the Order of the Phoenix, and of course they were.. He had to write about Penelope, he suddenly realized. If he had anything to talk about, that was it. Ginny was a young girl, and no doubt as silly and love-obsessed as always. She would eat up any reference to romance. So he did. Only a few sentences, but even that amount surprised him. He was never gushy like that. Penelope herself hadn't liked it, when they had been dating. But he read over them, and with some embarrassment decided they were gushy enough for being something he wrote. Just as long as Penelope never saw them. Ginny, of course, would love it. She had been the first one to know of their relationship in the first place. Well, at least there would be one thing from his letter his little sister would appreciated.

Hermes was waiting outside the tent, as if expecting he would be required to deliver a letter. Percy rolled the letter up and tied to the screech owl's leg, who then flew off. Percy watched him until Hermes was a speck in the distant sky, then continued on to work. He was actually excited about sending that letter off. Surprising.

He surprising himself a lot that morning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was something slightly uncomfortable about being a complete stranger in a new place, but it was a feeling that Remus Lupin was used to. Jobs, when he could get them, never lasted too long, so the familiarity of traveling to new places was strong. He kept to himself as he trudged through Dragon's Tooth, smiling politely at the few people he saw when they caught his eye. Remus was ordinary enough in appearance to cause no distraction, and the citizens of a tiny town no one had even heard of appeared to regard him as only a mild curiosity. Even they couldn't be immune to an occasional traveler passing through; no doubt that was how Percy Weasley had gotten his job. Whatever the reason, some ignorance was best for Remus.

He still wasn't sure what to think of the town. It seemed ordinary enough, an appearance that Penelope had been sure to put in her letter. Other than that, she had said very little, due to need to secrecy and caution. But she had said enough to cause Dumbledore concern, and Remus had been quick to volunteer for the mission. There was no other choice, really; he was beginning to understand how Sirius Black had felt when nothing could be done. Remus was not a wanted man like Sirius had been, but the feeling was the same; it was crunch-time in the war, and all he could feel was this drowning sensation.

But even now, he did not know what to do. His first arrival in Dragon's Tooth had been exciting, what with the full moon and Brogan's attack on Penelope and Percy. Brogan Marchent. . . Remus sighed and shook his head, causing a girl with frizzy blonde hair to give him a strange look. He simply did not know what to make of Brogan. He seemed a good man, brave, determined, and honest. Instinctively, Remus trusted him. Perhaps that was why he had been so lenient with him that morning, when the Imperious Curse seemed to have worn off. Brogan's claims of being attacked with the dreaded curse were perfectly reasonable; Remus remembered the first war, where it had been impossible to know who was being forced into action against their free wills. There was nothing more terrifying than the loss of control of one's self. And Brogan had spoke with such honesty and sorrow that Remus was for the most part convinced. He had even given his suspicions of Brown, of Matthias Dormand's attack.

And yet, how he could he really be sure?

Then there was Percy Weasley. Remus was still in shock over discovering the boy here, of all places. Percy had never been the most popular of the Weasleys, but Remus had always liked him. He had taught him that year of teaching and had found him smart, responsible, and hard-working. Percy had many other good qualities as well. But even good qualities could be misused, and Remus still found it difficult to forgive or even believe the story Penelope had told. He supposed it was possible, that Percy had indeed tried to protect Arthur; then again, pretty much anything could be possible under the right circumstances. 

From what Penelope had said, though, Percy was clearly not involved with Brown. And that cast some favor in Percy's direction. If he still followed the Ministry, why would he be out here? If he had nothing to do with Brown, why would he be out here? Yet all that depended on whether Penelope was telling the truth, or even knew what was really going on.

And yet it was none of Remus' business, he realized with some pain. He had grown close to the Weasley family over the past several years, and as a result grown close to the hurt Percy had caused everyone. He could argue that in a sense it was his business. But what would that do, to tell Molly and Arthur that he knew where their son was? Yes, it could be good, but then it could be bad. It all came down to the fact that if Percy had changed, it was up to him to contact his family.

Remus stopped in front of a small building. Penelope had described the office to him, but everything in the town looked so much a like that it was hard to be sure. Well, there was only one way to find out. He rapped on the door and waited, but a minute passed without anyone answering. He looked at the street around him. The few people that were in sight were paying him no attention. With that, he opened the door and stepped inside. 

It was a bare room, with only a single, empty desk. Yet it was enough of an office.

"Hello?" he called. No reply.

He studied the back wall. There were no other doors, but an office wouldn't just have one desk. He walked up to the wall and examined it. Then, after a few minutes of examination, he pulled out his wand. There was a more advanced charm for more difficult hiding spells. Sure enough, a door appeared in the wall.

"Impressive," he muttered. He didn't bother knocking, but opened the door right up.

He had expected a strange room full of dark devices, the dream room of Alastor Moody. Or a more recognizable office. Or even just a room of clutter. Instead, there was nothing. A bare room with a wooden floor and spider webs in the corner. A tiny chest, hardly bigger than a wand box, sat in a dim corner.

And then there was a man, an elderly man with neat white hair and a dark blue robe. He lay flat on his back on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  
  



	18. Dementor Victim

Remus didn't have time to wonder. His body too fast for his mind, he was at the fallen man's side. Then his brain kicked in, gathering all the healing knowledge Remus had ever been exposed to. But the man was dead, he thought. Why else would his eyes be open in that sickening stare? What would have caused it? A fall? Something as simple as a stroke or heart-attack? Yet with all of Penelope's worries, he couldn't help but think possible fowl play. That curse, Avada Kedavra. . . that left its victims in such a state. The thoughts rushed through his head in a lightening-quick instant, rambling over one another, as his fingers searched for a pulse.

He found one on the man's neck, beating steadily as that of anyone. Color enough for the living filled the man's face. His chest rose with each perfectly normal breath.

Clearly, the man was alive.

His own heart pounding with relief and confusion, Remus drew his hand back So there was no death. That was good. Yet the man did not blink nor seem aware of anything around him. Remus waved a hand over the man's face and received no response. He wasn't dead, but there was something terribly wrong.

A shadow filled the doorway. "Mr. Dormand!"

Remus looked up to see Percy standing in the doorway, watching the scene with horror. This was unexpected. Percy didn't yet know Remus was here; he had been planning on a more formal meeting. Not this, standing over the body of a man in a trance. He cleared his throat and stood up. "Hello, Mr. Weasley."

Percy didn't bother to look at him. "What did you do to Dormand?"

"I found him like this-"

"He's dead!"

Remus shook his head. "He has a pulse. He's alive. For all intents and purposes, he's perfectly healthy."

Percy stared at Dormand's body, face pale. All awareness seemed to drain from him except the sight of the body on the ground. "This can't be happening," he muttered. 

"It is happening, Percy."

Percy took a deep breath and turned to Remus, ready to lash into some Percy-ish retort. He blinked once, disbelieving. Then a look of horror washed over his face. He stumbled once, catching himself on the rim of the doorway. "Lu-Lupin!"

"Surprised to see me, aren't you?" Remus said solemnly and more than a little cooly. 

"What. . . what are you doing here?!"

"I came looking for someone," he replied, glancing at Dormand. "This man, I suppose."

"How did you get in?" Percy stroked the doorway in something akin to fascination. "The doorway vanishes. I've never been inside."

"It's not too difficult. I may have broken in, but apparently it's a good thing I did so. I believe this Dormand fellow is in some sort of a trance."

"A trance," Percy repeated softly, frowning at Dormand's body. Then his eyes, now furious, were back on Remus. "How did you know I was here?"

Remus knelt back down to check Dormand's pulse. "Percy, I can honestly tell you I did know you were here. Don't be so selfish as to think I would waste my time looking for you in the middle of nowhere."

Percy made no reply, but his mouth was tight with anger.

Remus watched Percy carefully even as he checked Dormand. He didn't want to be in this position anymore than Percy. It simply wasn't his business. He had never been the one to have a temper, but he wondered to himself if he could manage a week or so in the little village without killing the boy. Then again, Molly wouldn't appreciate that, probably less than she would if he told her where Percy was. How unfair for the woman, having someone like Percy for a son. He bit his lip and tried to think of what Penelope had said. "You work for this man, I assume."

Percy still stood in the doorway, as if he planned to run off at any moment. "Yes. He hired me last week." His widened. He had said too much.

Remus again ran a hand across Dormand's face; again no reaction. "Then I take it you haven't been here very long."

"I didn't think you had so many questions to ask me."

Remus sniffed. He considered mentioning Penelope, but apparently she hadn't said anything. Why should he?

"What's wrong with Dormand?" Percy finally asked.

Remus shook his head and probed him with his wand. "I can't tell. It's nothing I've ever seen before." He stared hard at Dormand's blank face, searching for something, anything. "Unless. . ."

"Unless what?"

It couldn't be. They were miles away, even with their new freedom. It wouldn't be necessary for them to travel so far from civilization to find victims, not with all the fresh souls they had been commanded to take. . . Horrified, Remus leaped to his feet. "Look at his eyes," he said quickly.

Percy stepped away from the door and peered into his boss' face. Then he looked at Remus, disgusted. "I see absolutely nothing."

"Exactly." Some morbid sickness welled up inside Remus, fueled by his knowledge of dark creatures and his own life as one. "There is nothing. Nothing at all. No expression, no awareness, no life other than the simple functioning of the body. He might as well be a sponge. He's just a body, an empty shell."

"Dementors?" Percy asked incredulously. "Are you suggesting he was kissed by a Dementor? That he has no soul?"

"You always were smart in your classes, Percy."

"But. . ." Percy glanced back at Dormand. "I just saw him yesterday. He was fine."

And yet so many other weird things had happened the previous night. Brogan had been imperioused, told to attack Penelope and Percy-was it so illogical to think Dementors had been on the move? "Many things can happen in one short night."

Percy didn't want to look at either man, Remus Lupin or Matthias Dormand. The idea of an empty body void of its soul, victim of a Dementor, was sickening enough. To actually see such a case was a thousand times worse. It was a lesson one learned in school, a caution to stay far from the cloaked creatures roaming school grounds. They were never supposed to kiss anyone, aside from a command from the Ministry of Magic. Had the Ministry ordered this kiss? It was like a sick joke, or a plague that only followed him. His boss, first a servant of Voldemort and now a Dementor victim. And after the experiences with Crouch and Fudge. What sort of sick fate followed him? And here he was, at the scene of the crime. 

And then there was Lupin, the werewolf Percy still had yet to trust. He had appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be looking for someone. And not Percy. Well, perhaps Lupin wasn't lying. Percy had wandered out here, as well as Penelope. And Lupin was no doubt still with the Order of the Phoenix. They couldn't be that foolish, to allow something like Brown to exist. Of course someone clever would figure something out and come. But he still didn't want Lupin around. Lupin was friends with his parents. He would tell them exactly where their terrible son was. Fate was catching up to Percy all over the place.

"What do you propose we do with him, then?" he asked.

"The Order. . ." A strange look passed momentarily over Lupin's face. "I suspect this man of having ties to Voldemort."

"You're still with the Order, then?" His voice was filled with more distaste than he had intended.

"Yes. As well as the rest of your family."

Percy let his eyes fall to Dormand. "You can't tell them I'm here."

Lupin almost smiled, bemused. "Of course I can't. It's not up to me."

"You can't tell anyone."

"Like I said, I didn't come here to find you. I'm on an errand for the Order." He took a deep breath. "We need to do something with him. This is very unnatural. I thought this room would be an office or something, but it's but a bare closet. It's like it was made to stuff him into. We just can't leave him."

Percy nodded but didn't move. "I suppose this is going to take away from some interrogations you had planned for him."

"Yes, well, the Dementors are very unpleasant that way." He gazed around the room. "That little chest there in the corner. What's that?"

Percy followed his gesture to the little box. "I've never seen it before." And it wasn't him to get into his boss' business. Not that he hadn't already. "I'm not touching it."

Lupin frowned and moved across the room. He picked up the chest, opened it, and pulled out a large bottle that must have only barely fit. 

"What is it?" 

Lupin shook his head and opened the bottle. It was a misty color of some sort of liquid, a rich, swampy green. A scent filled the room, something like boiled cabbage. 

"What is it?" Percy asked again.

"Something." Lupin pulled an empty vial from the pocket of his robe and poured some of the green potion into it. Then he returned the vial to his robes and returned the larger bottle to the box. "Well, Percy, it was nice to run into you again."

"What about Dormand?"

"Leave him."

  
  



	19. Victim?

Yes, I'm alive and the space aliens have freed me.  Sorry I haven't written forever. I moved to Washington to work for my uncle for the next few months while I'm off-school, and things are still kind of hectic.

Disclaimer:  If you recognize it, I don't own it.  JK does.

Percy stared hard at the door long after Remus Lupin had left.  And there he was, at the entrance of a strange empty room standing next to the shell of a Dementor victim.  A bad memory hitting him again.  His former boss Mr. Crouch, of course, had never received the terrible kiss, but his son the imposter had.  That was a fact no one could deny, not even the Ministry with all their twisted lies.  And he, Percy Weasley, was again stuck in one of the more precarious positions of the situation.  It was like some damn curse.  Insane, he thought.  The entire world had flipped upon itself and had gone insane.  And now Remus Lupin had to enter the picture.  

He swore and gave Dormand's body a swift kick.  It was disgusting, the sight of a man he had just seen walking around, utterly normal, lying in the dust like one of those Muggle wax dummies.  And everything had been going so well.  Penelope that morning. . . now what was she going to think?  He smiled in spite of himself.  Penny might actually enjoy another small addition to her pet conspiracy.

Penny. He had let that old nickname slip back into his thoughts.

No.  He shook his head.  Now he was the insane one.  There was a soulless man lying on the floor of his office.  This was not a time to be thinking of girls!  Not even Penelope.  He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his still-damp hair.  Think, Percy, he told himself.  That's what you're supposed to be good at.  You're here, Lupin has left with probably all the evidence, so you need to take complete responsibility.  Yes, something had to be done with Dormand before anyone else came.

Or another Dementor, he thought with a shiver.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been taking up such responsibility for a few years.  And even so, he only knew of one way to deal with such a mess.

Hide it.

With a final disgusted glare at Dormand, Percy stepped into the main office and slammed the door shut.  He breathed deeply and hoped he looked reasonably composed.  Then he sat down at this desk, where he found nothing to do.  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Not even some crazed parchment from Valentine.  Heart pounding, he searched the desk several times.  He needed something to do.  That's what one was supposed to do when something wrong was going on:  keep busy.  That was the only thing that could keep a mind off whatever chaos was ransacking the world.  There was a certain safety in order that he had come to expect; how on earth was he supposed to go without it now, what with his conscience screaming accusations of near-murder at him?  Feeling like a thousand knives were grinding their ways into his flesh, he leaned over his desk, gazing at the wild patterns in the wood, waiting.

Lupin had to return soon.  He couldn't just leave Percy in the dark about the bottle.

Assuming Lupin trusted Percy.

A wave of sickness washed through Percy along with fresh anger.  How dare Lupin come here.  Lupin wasn't welcome.

Occasionally he glanced at the door, hoping someone would enter and give him something to do.  A few people passed by on the street, but no one entered, or ever looked inside the open door.  It had never occurred to him exactly how few people he had seen in direct association with Dormand.

Dormand.  Good grief, Percy was acting like he had sucked Dormand's soul out.

Finally he sighed, pushed back his chair with one violent motion, and walked to the door.  This was a complete waste of time!  Dormand was. . . gone, and there was no point in waiting around for Lupin to come back.  Percy had done nothing but stumble upon Lupin with Dormand's body.  If Dormand were truly opposing the Order of the Phoenix, it was Lupin's problem; the man had already accepted it, leaving Percy utterly in the dark.  As furious as Percy was, he couldn't help but admit that Lupin was a good man and would be sure to protect whomever he needed to.  Lupin seemed to care enough about the Weasleys to not mention Percy to them.  Yet Percy stood in the doorway a long time before slamming the door behind him and heading down the street.

What had become of the gusto of the previous hour?

The tavern appeared before him n what seemed like an instant.  He had never before realized just how. . . nice the tavern really was.  Penelope was lucky to stay there.  As he came closer, he could hear the faint blurred voices of the people inside.  Probably having a very active lesson.  How much would the Healers appreciate it if he came again to steal Penelope away?  Not much, especially after the questionability of last night.  Who know what sort of trouble that had thrown Penelope into?  

He suddenly realized that he had stopped walking and was now staring only at the tavern.  How pathetic, a tiny voice said, to be standing in the street waiting for some girl to appear.

Then he saw a bit of white flutter in an upper window.  He squinted.  It looked like a sheet of parchment, caught on the window like a tied bird.  Then it snapped free, beat against the air for a moment, and swooped down to Percy where it hovered before his face, folded and waiting to be opened.  A note—he recognized the short-distance delivery charm.  He quickly unfolded it.

Dear Percy,

            I really do need to attend my lessons once in awhile if I ever hope to complete my training with honors, but I left this note just in case you came by.

            I'm not sure as to what happened this morning, and perhaps it's best I apologize for anything I might have done, for I don't know what your feelings are despite my suspicions.  After this morning and the way I've treated you over the past few years (especially this past week) with all I have said, I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again.  If that is your wish, I can accept it and even try to honor such a wish.  But that is all I can apologize for.

            As I have said, I believe everything you say.  I don't know what that means to you now, as my actions have not exactly corresponded with that.  But I will believe anything you tell me.

            Perhaps later we can get together and talk.

                                                            Love,

                                                                        Penelope

Percy read the letter several times, drinking up the words before refolding it and placing it in his pocket.  Black marks clung to his hands, fresh ink just from the bottle.  He liked the smell of ink, he always had.  There was another scent mixed with it, just as familiar.  The letter had even smelled like Penelope.

She wanted to talk.  Coming from a female, that statement was ambiguous for good or evil.  However, this time. . . this had to be good.  It just felt right.

He gazed one more time up at the empty window with partial hope Penelope's face might appear.  But good for her for sticking to her training.  That was something he could approve of.

Now where to go?  He could return to the office to stand as guilty when someone finally found Dormand.  Lupin hopefully might have done something with the body, if he had returned—Lupin had originally found Dormand and deserved more blame than Percy.

And then there was the possibility that Winston Morsley had stumbled upon the body.  He seemed to have unquestioned access to that office. . .

A sickening thought entered Percy's mind.  He raced through his impressions of Morsley.  He had not seemed to believe what Percy and Valentine had told him, nor did he fit the profile of someone who would work with Dementors.  But Percy had dealt with too much falsity.  It didn't made sense, but nothing ever did anymore.  And Morsley would certainly be in there by now.  Percy broke into a run.

He caught up with Morsley at the door.  Morsley stopped, hand on the doorknob, as Percy ran up panting.  

"Ignatius," he said softly.  He didn't look well; his dark hair was limp and unbrushed, face paler than usual, eyes red as if he had not slept.  "Why aren't you inside already?"

It was almost a reprimand, and Percy shrank back instinctively.

Morsley shook his head and resumed opening the door.  "Never mind.  I just wanted to talk to you."

He wasn't about to confess, was he?

"I couldn't find Valentine anywhere, so. . .I came here."  His eyes dropped to the ground.  "It's just that I thought about what you told me."

"So you admit we were correct?" Percy asked solemnly.

Morsley's face reddened as he nodded.  "I'm not completely sure yet, but if Valentine is worried than maybe I should be as well."

No sign of anything involving a Dementor.

"Maybe I should speak to Dormand."  He misread the shock on Percy's face. "No, I don't confront him.  Just sort of spy.  He always seemed so fanatical—a trait I admired," he finished bitterly.

"So it doesn't really surprise you," Percy replied.

"Oh, I'm very surprised. I just wonder if anything else is involved."

"What do you mean?"

Morsley shrugged and stepped inside.  "I wish I could say."

"Morsley."  Percy quickly side-stepped the other man.  "You can't talk to Dormand."

Morsley gave a dry laugh and dodged Percy. "Don't worry."

"No, you don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"Understand what?"

Percy and Morsley spun around.  Matthias Dormand stood in the doorway of his office, fully alive and aware.  His white hair was freshly brushed and his face was brightened with an almost-cheerful expression.  He held a ceramic mug in his hand.  "I'm sorry I haven't been out all morning, but there has been so much work. . . Mr. Ignatius, are you all right?"

Percy managed a nod, thinking about how his legs were threatening to give way beneath him.  Impossible.  He had seen. . . what had he seen?  Dormand had been absolutely lifeless.  Lupin.  Perhaps Lupin had done something.  But it was still impossible.  He shook his head.  He couldn't freak out now. "Er. . . Morsley has something to ask you."

Morsley, who had been watching Percy with confused interest, shook his head.  "It can wait, sir.  I know how you are before you coffee."

Dormand nodded, absolutely placid.  "Five minutes.  Then enter my office and say whatever you want to say."  He turned back to his office door.

But in that quick instant Dormand turned Percy caught something on the man's face.  A shift in the skin tone or something, perhaps a play of shadows.  For that moment, it wasn't fully Dormand's face.  Something was different.  But familiar.  Another familiar face merged in there.

That was silly.  He was upset.  Upset people saw things.

"I'll go to my desk now," he muttered, slinking off without another look at Morsley.  Not that he had anything to do.  He slumped into his chair, mind whirling.  In a few minutes, Morsley entered Dormand's office, leaving Percy alone.  Percy waited patiently for Morsley return. He finally did, utterly bewildered.

"I really don't know if I can believe you," he said, shaking his head.  "He didn't seem suspicious at all."

Percy stared down at the faint scratches on his desk before looking up. "You know what Dementors are, don't you?"

Morsley blinked.  "Yes. . ."

"And you know what they do?"

"Suck out one's soul."  He shivered as he spoke.

"This morning, Dormand was like that."

Morsley gave a hollow laugh. "What? He's fine now.  How could that change?"

Percy sighed. "I wish I knew."

Morsley stared at him, frowning.  "I don't know what the matter is with you today, but it's probably best that you leave.  I don't have any work for you, and it doesn't look like Dormand does, either.  If anyone comes in, Dormand can get them.  I'll tell him you're ill."

Percy didn't want to leave.  He had always felt sick days were an abandonment of responsibility.  And yet what else was he supposed to do?  "I'll do that."


	20. Love

Percy wandered the village till near-evening, thinking.  A strange character her must have looked, stumbling like a sleepwalker into people and places with utter blankness on his face and the murmur of an apology.  No one said anything despite a few curious glances, and the hours spent in the corner of the pub with barely a sip of his drink went unquestioned.  'Just the new fellow' must have been the assumed reason.  The village probably thought freaks of the rest of the world.

            There had to be an explanation for what he had seen, the near-resurrection of Matthias Dormand.  Percy's life was based on a faith in logic, as much as the magical world had to offer.  After all, even magic and mysticism followed rules.  So what was to be said for Dormand, a soulless corpse at one moment and a normal person the next?

            With a heavy sigh he stared once against into his mug of butterbeer, which had grown disgustingly cold.  What a waste of the little money he had.  He could have gotten something stronger and given himself to drunkenness for the rest of his life—that at least would have been money spent for something.  But no such fate.  He fished his robes for a coin, slammed that onto the tabletop, and stood up.

            The pub was reasonably busy.  Not packed, but as full as one might expect it to be to give the owners something of a profit.  Random small-town people scattered haphazardly among the tables and booths, talking or dreaming or stuck in the state Percy was in.  At least they looked less burdened than he did, even the depressed.  Were they all working with Brown?  Did they have any idea whose side they were even on?  How satisfying it would be to just jump on the table and scream out the whole mess!  But how appreciated would that be, especially by himself when he was dragged away. . .to what?  The same Demented fate as Dormand?  Well, he had to do something.  

            For the first time, a set of eyes met his and stayed.  Dark eyes, beckoning him.  They belonged to the face of an older woman, seated by herself at a table near the center of the pub.  She gave a frank smile and motioned him over.

            Percy glanced to the side.  Him?  It had to be someone else.  The woman noticed his confusion, shook her head, and beckoned again.  Warm blood rushed to his face as he made his way over.  

            The woman looked vaguely familiar.  Mental pictures glowed with images of the woman, but Percy couldn't quite make out the setting.  Around the village, he supposed in the end.  She looked to be in her fifties, with graying black hair and a kind face.

            He hovered above the table, feeling obnoxiously noticed.  "You wanted me, ma'am?"

            The woman nodded.  "Si, you.  Remember, it's just as awkward for me when you don't come right off.  Here's me, waving like an idiot in the middle of a pub.  I suppose that's not too uncommon for pubs, though."

            He didn't know how to reply to that, so he nodded.

            "I've seen you around here," the woman continued.  "Are you new?"

            "Moved here last week, ma'am."

            She raised a black eyebrow.  "Muy polite.  I'm impressed.  I take it you're sick of the war?"

            He snorted. If only she knew.  "To be honest, ma'am, I couldn't mare much about it anymore."

            "So you come here to get away.  I see.  Makes sense.  Escape to a nice little unknown hamlet in the middle of nowhere.  You-Know-Who will never look for you here."  There was an edge to her voice, a tone not quite mocking, but very conscious all the same.  When Percy failed to reply, she continued.  "I'm afraid you're horribly mistaken, though.  We have our problems out here, just like everyone else.  You've heard about the dragons, no?"

            Something he could finally make a proper answer to. "Of course I have. Matthias Dormand is working with them.  Wants to protect them from the Dark Lord."  The term, familiar to him, slipped out before he realized it.  He drew a cutting breath, dropping his eyes to the table.  "I. . . I work for Dormand."

            The woman was silent for a long time, gently tapping her short, battered nails on the tabletop.  Then she laughed.  "I see.  You seemed ashamed of it."

            He rapidly shook his head.

            She laughed again, a surprisingly warm, lovely sound.  "But you don't seem to care either way.  Interesting.  Sospechoso. Yo lo apuesto está aquí para algo más."

            Percy had no idea what the woman had just said; he couldn't even guess by the tone.  "I have to wonder what makes it your business why I am here."

            "Just making friendly conversation."

            "With a complete stranger?"

            She shrugged.  "You had stood up.  It made you obvious.  And you seemed like a nice young man, and I'm much out of the way with today's youth.  Back to your job.  Are you enjoying it?  Do you like Mr. Dormand?"

            Now it felt like an interrogation from his grandmother.  Awkward and uncomfortable in an entirely different way.  But he somehow managed to look back at her.  "It's a living."

            The woman nodded, smiling sweetly.  A crazy woman, but a sweet thing.  Probably adored by her own grandkids.  Then the smile flipped with suspicion, and her dark eyes narrowed.  "Your face. . ."

            The hood had slipped down.  The scar.  How many people know about that?  "A hippogriff attack."  He flipped his hood back up.  

            No suspicion.  Only pity in the woman's expression.  "How unfortunate.  You should have gone to a proper healer in the beginning.  That's my profession;  I could have fixed you up in a momento."

            "I don't mind it," he muttered.  "Listen, it was nice to meet you, ma'am, but I must be going.  I'm meeting someone."

            "Oh!"  The woman winked.  "A chica?  A lady friend?"

            A smile forced its way onto his lips.  "Yes.  A lady friend."

            Penelope was waiting outside the tavern when Percy came.  The dying sun burned in at the horizon, casting shadows and flame over everything.  She sat on a boulder outside the door, sunset caught in her curls, a textbook on her lap.  A phoenix, he thought.  No, she was more beautiful than that.

            She slammed the book shut when she saw him approach.  For a split second he thought she might throw it at him—that had happened before.  But instead she let it fall to the ground; he couldn't tell if it were by accident or purpose.  Then she stood, waiting, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "I thought you might come."

            Percy forced a laugh, stopping at a far distance from her, not daring to come any closer.  "I do that a lot.  Not very proper of me."

            She ran a hand through her curls.  She was so pretty.  "I don't mind.  Did you get my note?"

            He took a step closer, feeling like some predator.  "Yes.  You said you wanted to talk?"

            "Here.  Not in the woods."  She said "here" like a command.  

            He nervously made his way towards her, then stared.  She stared back.

            "Pretty sunset," she finally managed in a mock-cheerful voice.

            Why did girls like sunsets so much?  Men were forced to like them in order to appear romantic.  "It is nice."

            "Mm."  She forced a smile.  "I'm sorry.  I really did mean to talk."

            He supposed he could mention the Dormand incident.

            "I want to talk about this morning," she said.  "The kiss.  Like I mentioned in my note."

            "I'm sorry," he said quickly.  "I didn't mean. . ."

            "I'm the one who kissed you."

            "I kissed back.  It wasn't proper of me, taking advantae."         

            "I took advantage.  I just thought I was back at Hogwarts for a moment. . ."

            Was that it?  A sudden memory relapse?

            "But. . . I don't think I would have done that if I didn't still care."  She sighed deeply and sat back down on the boulder.  "I was really in love with you back then."

            "Back then?"  Something about that struck a nerve in Percy's body.  "Was it just because I was a prefect?  And Head boy?"  The accusation surprised himself.  He had liked those titles.

            Penelope's head snapped up, shocked.  "No!  You can't think that!"

            "It seemed to matter to everyone else.  The only thing.  That's how I wound up with that damn job with Fudge."

            "I admit it was impressive," she said helpfully.  "I think you deserved to be Prefect and Head Boy and whatnot."

            Whatever.

            "Here," she said, scooting over. "You'll get tired if you just stand there."

            The boulder was small.  Heart pounding, Percy squeezed next to Penelope.  Another long lapse of silence ushered itself in.

            "I thought you hated me because I was Head Boy," he finally said.  "And everything that it implied."

            She didn't deny.  The expression on her face told him she couldn't deny it.  "I like redemption, Percy. It's a good concept, and I believe in it."

            He gave a bitter laugh.  "It's more difficult than you might think."

            "But you tried to protect me last night. . ."  She sounded as if she wanted to say more.  "Oh, goodness.  That sounds so trite. Liking you because you saved me, like some damsel-in-distress.  It's more than, you must believe me."  She sighed again and met his eyes.  "Percy, please say you forgive me."

            He watched her, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  He couldn't answer the question with a simple yes or no.  This was the opportunity for something else.  Something she might hate, but the opportunity demanded itself to be born.  He leaned over and kissed her hard.

            She didn't struggle, but gave herself to the kiss.  When it ended, she smiled.  "I'll that as a yes."

            Percy found himself smiling.  "So I take it. . ."

            "I decided something this morning, Percy.  I decided that I'm in love with you again.  I even tripped on a pillow, I was so in love."

            The words he had waiting to hear for years.  Something he wasn't supposed to hear.  From Penelope. His Penny.  

            She didn't seem to expect a reply. "I need to go back inside. I'm not repeating last night.  First, a goodnight kiss."  She kissed him again and darted back inside.


	21. Remus' Theory

Remus Lupin had not earned his one-year romp of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts simply because Dumbledore had felt sorry for a hapless werewolf; years of actually paying attention in school combined with the strange first-hand knowledge that comes with life as a dark creature had given him worthy experience.  Yet it was only during the wars against Voldemort that the knowledge had ever been put to full practical use.  Voldemort's mind was twisted with evil and only made for the darkest magic Remus could imagine;  strange things had been seen over the years but the horror of seeing a victim of a Dementor could never slacken.  A soulless, breathing corpse was an affront to nature.  There couldn't be a fate more worse.  That was serious and dark magic.

But he couldn't shake the irony that the key to the situation lay in the seven years watching the antics of James Potter and Sirius Black and their complex works of transfiguration.  Animal transformation, sadly enough, came natural to Remus.  The Marauders had been proud of their skills, but the familiarity should have been useful.  Remus tapped lightly on the stolen bottle, watching trance-like as the potion whirled inside.  Polyjuice potion, of all things.  He the spell to be complicated and more than a little out of the mainstream, and the previous mess of Crouch Jr. should have stayed in the memory of those in the Order.  Then again, never had polyjuice potion been used in such a way—at least Remus had never heard of an incident.  The element of transformation upon something defenseless. . . the idea made Remus' skin crawl.

The sun had nearly set, and still sent its final fiery blazes along the horizon and through patches in the trees where Remus hid.  A scattered few stars had already forced their way above.  Soon the moon would have its strength.  Another night of the full moon, another night Remus accepted with calm placidity and the fond memories of wild Marauder nights back at school.  He had already drank his potion; the little village of Dragon's Tooth had nothing to fear.  He didn't want to cause a ruckus by going inside; he could spend the night hypothesizing and test the results in the morning.

The first question sounded like something out of a joke:  Why the juxtaposition of Dormand's soulless body and a bottle of polyjuice potion?  That was answered easily enough, though with more than one answer.  Someone happened to have a bottle around at the time.  Bound to raise a few eyebrows, but there was nothing illegal about polyjuice potion.  

But there was another question that defied all logic.  Only an hour or so after leaving Percy with Dormand, Remus had actually seen the latter, perfectly alive and aware.  As far as anyone knew, the Dementor's Kiss was permanent and irreversible.  Of course, there was the off-chance that Remus had been wrong in his diagnosis.  Normally he would have accepted that explanation.  But something, some higher intuition that maybe came with being a werewolf, told him no.  And so he entertained another theory, one so ridiculous it could have been a children's story, and in the beginning he was tempted to brush it away as such.  But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it in the twistedly morbid taste of a hunter stalking his prey.  He couldn't be sure; but as the moonlight poured over him and twisted his body, the more the absurdities appeared technical.  

He lay on the ground, panting deeply, grass and dust stirring from his animal breath.  The pain never seemed to lessen.  Sometimes he missed the screaming, killing madness of the times before his potion's discovery.  But only for a moment.  The bones and flesh finally stilled, and he pushed himself up, letting the wolf eyes adjust to the darkness.  A walk would open his mind, and he could think.  He started forward through the trees, away from the village, enjoying his sharpened smell of the musky forest.

A few miles off the ground broke for a stream, clean water rushing over rocks toward who knew where.  Remus paused for a drink, lapping it up with his tongue.  

The crack of a twig caused him to lift his head, cold water still dripping from his mouth.  A figure appeared downstream, human.  It turned, catching the moonlight.  Dormand.  He stood where he was for a long time, so still a human Remus would have thought it a statue.  Another figure appeared from the trees opposite the stream.  It was unrecognizable, draped in a heavy cloak.  It walked toward the stream and into it.  There was no splash, no change in the person's movement.  It hovered above the water, almost on it.

The sight was so strange that Remus half expected Dormand's frozen body to double over in a bow.  But he still remained motionless.

"A mere toy," the cloaked figure said.  The voice was female, heavy and clear.  "A puppet with strings for me to hold."

Remus thought she was speaking to Dormand, but a third figure appeared from the woods behind the woman, a man Remus did not recognize.  "I admit your toy is useful.  I'd like to control it sometime."

The woman laughed, a dark rich sound that echoed through the trees.  "As soon as I finish my game.  A week or so, I promise.  If you want one sooner, find your own."

"As soon as our enemies find them, they kill the unfortunate creatures, put them out of their misery," the man said.  "Though what misery, I don't know."

"They're empty," the woman agreed.  "And some of the best soldiers Lord Voldemort has found in years. I realize I say it all the time, but I love them."

"And yet the Dark Lord preferred this one was he was aware.  One of his finest servants, he said.  Yet the poor fool failed."

Dormand's body lost its stiffness in a sudden downward slump.

"Imperious!" the woman shrieked.

The body jerked to its former statue-like position.

"You have to do that ever so often," the man muttered.

"And yet the entire village would be better off this way.  See if you can call in a Dementor or two.  Some of the younger ones grow suspicious.  I'm afraid one of mine will all in."

The man laughed after a subtle hesitation. "You care about them?"

"Some. I'm very fond of some; they've potential.  And I don't want them mixing with the wrong crowd."

"And that may be what's keeping you from getting the Order in here.  Are they not yet suspicious?"

"There is one, if you remember.  He had one of the lowest ranks among us.  Recruited through the Ministry.  Betrayed us by warning that Weasley trash."

Remus' sharp nails bit into the soft earth.

"I've seen him around," the woman continued.  "Spoke with him just this night."

"What did you tell him?"

"That's none of your concern," she hissed.  She fumbled through her robes, then levitated a bottle to Dormand. "Extra, puppet.  Continue your duties.  Now if you don't mind, Jason, I'll be taking my leave."  With a bang she apparated.  

Cursing, the man Jason followed her leave.

Then, slowly, Dormand pocketed the bottle, turned, and disappeared into the trees, leaving only a wolf standing in the moonlight near the stream.  Of all things, his theory was correct.  
  



	22. Theory Explained

"I've never been under the Imperious Curse myself, thank goodness," Remus Lupin said quietly.  "So I honestly can't know what it's like."

Brogan Marchent smiled faintly from across the table, his eyes willingly meeting Remus'.  "Like sleepwalking.  No, that's not a good description.  You know when you're half-asleep, you can still sense happenings in the awake world, just barely.  It's peaceful, really.  You want to go back to sleep so much and have that peace that you will do whatever they want you to do."

"Except you're being forced into it."

Brogan chuckled dryly and nodded.  "Yep, that's it.  By the sound of you, Lupin, I think you actually want to be placed under the Curse."

Three days had passed since Remus had witnessed the strange midnight meeting.  As soon as he had transformed back into a human, he had returned to the Order's Headquarters, ready to report.  Except. . . except he had said little;  only that Brown was indeed worthy of suspicion.  He couldn't explain his silence even to himself.  Perhaps that built-in need for secrecy from being a werewolf and his years as a Marauder was returning full-swing.  Or perhaps he was spending too much time with Harry.  Perhaps a mixture of both was to blame.  Whatever the reason, he wanted to say nothing else until he had proven his theory.  And so he had returned to Dragon's Tooth that morning, ready to dig the mines of information the village had to held.  His first source:  the once-Imperioused Brogan Marchent.  They sat in the pub, like two perfectly normal men having a drink, talking.

Remus laughed, sipping his drink.  "I think I'll pass a chance to be Imperioused.  But back to what you were saying, about being forced to do something.  I can't help but think that a victim could also be made to do something he wouldn't necessarily mind doing of his own free will."

"Duh."

"I used to be a teacher;  I'm used to be painfully obvious.  Anyway, that's why the Curse was such a problem during the first war.  No one was sure of the levels of willingness."

"Not when lying can be so simple," Brogan said.  He smiled mischievously.  "For all you know, I could have been lying."

"I happen to trust you," Remus replied.  "You even said you tried to fight the Curse.  So it can be fought?"

"Only by the strong," Brogan answered sadly.

"But I've another question for you.  You do know what the Dementors are?"

Brogan gave an involuntary shudder, smile fading.  "Doesn't everyone?  The ex-guards of Azkaban."

"You haven't seen any around Dragon's Tooth, have you?"

Brogan's face paled.  "Should I have?  No, never.  I've never even heard of any."

Remus took in the information.  So the attack couldn't have been three days ago.  His theory was going fine.  "Well, that's good.  No one likes Dementors.  Especially what they do their victims."

"Lupin, don't even talk about it."

"The Dementor's Kiss.  Sucking out a human soul through those gaping holes they call mouths.  Leaving an empty corpse with a  beating heart and breathing lungs and nothing else."

"That's disgust… ."  Brogan's eyes widened, and he stared at Remus in amazement.  Then he laughed.  "A perfectly good body, despite the lack of a personality."

"A puppet."  Remus could scarcely believe himself.  His theory had just been spoken aloud.  "Pretend you are some evil minion of Lord Voldemort.  You want armies under your command.  But not everyone is willing to join.  And those you do get might fight their ways free, eventually.  But you also have the Dementors on your side."

Brogan slammed his mug down on the tabletop, slashing whiskey everywhere.  "That's the most twisted thing I have ever heard of.  So who are you suggesting is our Dementor-victim puppet?"

Remus smiled and finished off his drink with one gulp.  "I don't trust you that much, Mr. Marchent.  It was a pleasure running this by on you, though."  He made ready to remove the silencing charm, but Brogan spoke up again.

"Dormand," he said eagerly.  "We already know whose side he's on.  Or Winston Morsely or Valentine Munk—I still don't trust them.

Remus casually glanced to the side.  Valentine herself sat at a table on the other side of the pub, writing with her characteristic fury on a piece of parchment.  Brogan hadn't seen her.  Thank goodness the silencing charm was still on.  "I can't answer anything," he said calmly.  "Maybe another time."

Brogan sighed and extended his hand for Remus to shake.  "I can understand that.  This place is crazy."

Remus shook Brogan's hand.  "Wait. I do have one more question.  When you were under the Curse, what were you told to do?"

Brogan thought for a long time, various expressions flowing across this face and remaining for mere seconds.  "I honestly don't remember.  I guess it was just to… attack.  But I couldn't tell you if it was to attack Percy and Penelope or just anyone."

Hopefully anyone, Remus thought.  Any specific victims would mean they were known.  "Thank-you again."

"If it is Dormand you're thinking of, I'll probably wind up killing him anyway, sometime soon."

Remus couldn't tell if Brogan were serious or kidding.  "I'm removing the spell now.  We were discussing women."

"Ooh.  Good topic."

Remus chuckled, removed the spell, and paid for his drink.  He passed Valentine on his way out.  She was writing faster than he thought humanly possible, her pale face flushed with excitement.  Evidently inspiration had struck her.  He spent a moment watching her with mild curiosity, then left.  

The light of the setting sun was strangely  harsh after the dim pub.  He blinked, wishing he owned a pair of Muggle sunglasses.  Or at least knew a charm with the same affect.

"Mr. Lupin!"

He managed to gain enough control over his eyes to see Penelope Clearwater hurrying towards him—and Percy Weasley right behind her.  

"Hello, Penelope," he said warmly.  He met Percy's eyes.  "Percy."

"Where have you been?" Penelope asked.  "We've been looking for you.  We've something to tell you."

"I. . . left."  He glanced around.  The street was empty.  "I just got back today."

"You didn't speak to my parents, did you?" Percy asked, his eyes still on Remus'.

"No. I promised you I wouldn't."

Percy visible relaxed.

"Now. You've something to tell me?"

"Percy said you found Dormand's body," Penelope said softly.  "He was like he had been kissed by a Dementor.  He's. …"

"He's up and kicking," Remus finished.  "I know. I saw him too.  Has he…. Has he done anything?"

"Besides hide in that closet of an office and give silly orders?"  Percy shook his head.  "No."

"Remember that bottle I took from his office?"

He frowned.  "Yes."

"It's Polyjuice potion."

"Polyjuice potion?"  Understanding filled Penelope's face.  "Oh!  Percy, you didn't say anything about that!"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, cowering back.  "And what does that have to do with a Dementor?"

"Has Dormand ever seemed… not himself?" Remus asked.

"I barely  know him," Percy hissed.  "How am I supposed to know who he is?"

"His features.  Has he ever seemed like someone else?"

The lack of reply was answer enough.

Penelope grabbed Percy's hand, a gesture that surprised Remus.  "You didn't say anything about that."

"I didn't think of it like that.  I didn't even know what to think.  It was like a shift in his face.  I thought it was the light."

Percy was hiding a big clue. "Did he look like someone else?" Remus pressed.  "Did you recognize him?"

Percy tore his eyes from Remus' gaze, not speaking.

"Percy," Peneope begged.  "Did you recognize anything?"

Percy's eyes were suddenly back on Remus.  "I don't know what you're getting at.  I'm not in the Order!  Just because I work for someone doesn't mean I have to be utterly responsible for them."  He sighed and looked to Penelope.  "I'll see you tomorrow, Penny."

"Percy!" she shrieked as he walked off.

"What's he hiding?" Remus asked.  

Penelope stared in the direction Percy had gone.  "That Crouch incident.  He's still sensitive about it.  I'm sorry, Lupin.  I'll see if I can't get more out of him."

"And why did he call you Penny?"

The worry on her face slackened as she smiled.


	23. The Return of Crouch

Percy waited for Penelope at the side of the road far down from the spot outside the tavern where they had met Lupin, a grassy area where the village fanned out into scattered buildings and more than a comfortable number of trees.  He hadn't intended to run off, not really.  But it had been Penelope's idea to speak to Lupin, to enlist him in whatever brainstorm she was messing with.  Percy couldn't help but be impressed by her nimble thinking; she had been theorizing anew with every small clue she discovered.  Percy knew and appreciated the importance of completing a project, but Lupin was a man he didn't want to be around.

Penelope appeared quickly, scarcely letting a few minutes separate her from Percy.  She jogged to him, curls bouncing and eyes aglow.  She stopped before him and, with a quick kiss on his cheek, said "You shouldn't have run off like that. It's considered rude."

"You and your lessons in protocol," he replied.  "Lupin's no one deserving silly respect.  He's no longer a teacher, and we are no longer Hogwarts students."  He didn't hold much meaning for the words even for himself; they sounded foolish coming from his mouth.

Penelope studied his face, frowning.  He could feel her disproval radiating like a blazing hearth.  "You're impossible.  He didn't even refer directly to Crouch."

Percy flinched.  Of course that was it.  How did she come to suspect it?  He covered his guilt by rubbing his eye.  "I don't know what you mean."

"You are so terrible at lying."

He sighed and reached for her hands, reluctantly enjoying the comfort of how perfectly they fit inside his own.  "Lying is hardly a hobble act."

Her face lit with a short laugh.  "There's a bit of prefect left in you yet.  Remember those days, Percy?  The prefect compartment on the train, the times wandering the halls?  Those unchaperoned excursions to those empty classrooms?"  She winked up at him.  "And you always pretended to be so noble, the perfect prefect."

            It wasn't an accusation coming from her, though he instinctively wanted to draw back.  The same thing she had once dumped him for, now just a jest.  She had managed to tug a smile from him, somehow.  "Yes, I remember those.  Not the best example of good prefects we could have been."  He laughed.  "I remember being so stupid as to try and hide us from my brothers.  I was afraid they'd never let me live it down.  Hm.  Come to think of it, they never did."

            "Mm."  She snuggled her head under his chin, filling his nose with the scent of her shampoo.  "Didn't want them to know you were only human."

            "I guess that's it," he said, bewildered.  It was a concept he hadn't put into words before.

            "Remember that time your sister walked in on us?"

            He laughed.  "It was as if her birthday had come early.  She couldn't wait to tell our brothers.  I finally had to swear her to silence.  Silence she never kept."  Ginny.  The humor of the memory gave way to sudden heartache.

            "Percy?"  Penelope looked up at him, her fingers now gently stroking his arm.  "You miss her, don't you?"

            He thought briefly of the letters he and Ginny had exchanged.  Such small tokens, never very long. He had even felt them burdensome at times, reminders of what he no longer wanted or deserved.  But where would he be without them?  "More than anyone might think," he finally said.  "You have a brother, so you might understand this somewhat."

            "I'm intrigued already.  Explain."

            "I suppose there's this universal trait that is implanted in all big brothers with sisters.  And you know my family.  Seven kids, six boys and one girl.  Ginny's the baby, besides.  My eldest brother Bill was in his last year at Hogwarts when Ginny was born, and Charlie graduated a few years later.  So I always felt more like the big brother to her." He smiled weakly.  That had been a privilege he had really messed up.  He didn't express that thought, but he felt it evident on his face.  "And yet I abandoned my baby sister.  I really am a git, aren't I?"

            She hesitated, probably thinking.  He suddenly realized he wouldn't care what she was thinking or what she might say in the end as long as she remained where she was.  "yes," she finally agreed sadly.  "You are the world's biggest git."

            "I'm writing to her, if that improves my image."

            "You are writing?"  A smile of genuine happiness spread over her face, flooding relief.  "That's the best news I've heard about you for a long time.  Mention me to her.  Unless. . ."  Uncertainty filled her voice.  "Unless you'd rather not."

            "Ginny's gotten better at keeping secrets," he replied, raising her chin.  It's you I'm worried about, Penny.  But somewhat he couldn't voice that.  And yet she herself was referring to something, he could sense that.  But what?  The moment called for something more.  "Do you know what the most horrible experience of my life was?"

            Her blue eyes widened, no doubt from the imaginings of all that went on in Death Eater society.  He hated that look on her face.  He hated it so much he could taste blood in his mouth, coppery and almost sweet. And to think he had caused it.  Well, that was all over, and he had a story to tell.

            "You were attacked by the basilisk.  I felt so damn weak when I found out.  I was your boyfriend, I was supposed to protect you."

            "That's not. . .  It was no one's fault."

            He shook his head.  "I know. But that's how I felt.  I remember seeing you in that hospital bed, completely motionless and helpless.  There was nothing I could do.  I couldn't even protect Ginny.  Even with you gone, I could have done that much.  It was her first year.  My mum had told me to take care of her.  I was supposed to watch her.  But I never noticed anything wrong, though she seemed practically a ghost. I just said she was sick, or upset by the attacks.  I just blamed it on everything else.  It's the worst feeling in the world, Penny, when you're supposed to be protecting someone and you fail. I remember Professor McGonagall telling me that my only sister had been taken into that damn Chamber of Secrets, as good as dead."  The truth that had been explained to him rushed back with full painful potency.  "The truth was even worse, when I found out.  How come I didn't notice?  And you weren't there, Penny.  I thought I had lost both of you."

            Penelope gazed at him for a long time, her face twisting with mixed emotions.  Then she flung her arms around his neck.  "You never spoke of that before."

            He kissed her forehead, suddenly relieved.  "I thought I was best just to forget it.  Everything turned out well in the end."

            "Yes, that might have been best, but I don't think you can ever really forget something like that," she replied.  "It's probably best you don't even try."  She drew back, tears clinging to her eyelashes.  "Do you want to hear my confession?  When we were. . . healed, I heard about your sister, and to be honest, I blamed myself."

            That news stunned him.  "What for?"

            She shook her head, now grinning sheepishly.  "I thought that maybe I had distracted you so you couldn't watch Ginny.  I felt like I had taken up too much of your time."

            "Not enough," he murmured.  "I've never even thought of it that way.  How on earth did you come up with it?  I don't blame you.  We were keeping our relationship so secret. . ." He noticed her blush in the darkness.

            "I liked our little clandestine affair," she said with a giggle.  "TI was fun, sneaking around like that."

            "So did I ," he admitted.  The one secret he had kept from his family.  For a time, anyway.  Perhaps he had liked secrets too much.

            "And then you changed."  There was no anger in her voice, just sad resignation.  All playfulness was gone, leaving her dim.  "I put up with it as long as I could, hoping you might go back to the way you were.  It hurt me so much until I finally stopped. . ." She smiled bitterly, reddening.  "Never mind.  It doesn't matter now.  You changed, you graduated, you went off to work for that awful Mr. Crouch.  And I eventually got over it."

            Dormand's face flashed through his mind, the face of three days ago.  "At least I'm back with you now."  The image again, twirling, twisting, converging with dozens of other faces torn from his memory.  "Crouch was. . . a mistake.  A big mistake. It was almost a relief when he died.."  Even to Percy.  No more repeating of what he instinctively knew in his heart to be lies and the final cataclysmic consequence of months of Ministry and media suspicion.  Mr. Bartemius Crouch finally dead.  Murdered, yes, but dead and out of the way.  He didn't want to think about it.  "Perhaps I had better walk you home now."

            "Are you so eager to get rid of me already?"  Penelope glanced up at the star-scattered sky.  "I think you are right.  No more late-night excursions for me."  She slipped her hand back into his.

            They walked in silence for several pleasantly long minutes.  Percy enjoyed just being near her. It was nice when a girl didn't demand a conversation.  But Crouch and Dormand still occupied his mind.  As well did Lupin.  He felt almost angry that they dare wreck this moment.  But he wouldn't ruin it.  And yet he was thankful when Penelope did.

            "Remus told me something else after you left," she said simply.  "His suspicions.  His "theory" as he called it."

            "Oh?"  If it came from Lupin, he wasn't in the mood to hear it.

            If Penelope noticed the influx in his voice, she  paid it no mind.  "Yes.  It's a very. . . interesting theory."

            "You mean to discredit it?"

            She gave him a reproving cuff on his wrist.  "You're being rude again.  I was in a hurry to catch up with you, so he only gave me his outline.  I know how you feel about Lupin, and I'm sorry if this bothers you, but I happen to agree with what he says."

            She was going to egg him on until she was allowed to speak.  "Okay, then. I'm sorry.  Tell me what Lupin said."

            She let out a long sigh, stopped, and pulled Percy toward her.  "Dementors," she whispered in his ear.  

            He nearly choked on a quick intake of breath.  "Those. . . those things." He had seen too many.

            Penelope nodded, face flushed.  "They suck souls.  That's what Remus said they did to Mr. Dormand."

            It made no sense.  The Dementor idea had obviously been false.  "But Dormand was. . ."

            "I know.  He was moving around.  Just bare with me.  The bodies, even without the soul, are alive.  There are still minds, no matter how empty.  And that means they are still susceptible to the Imperious Curse."

            It felt as if iron cursed through his brain, pounding as his skull.  "That's insane.  How did he come up with it?"

            "Lupin is actually very smart, even if you don't think so.  Besides, he said he overheard something else.  I didn't wait for him to tell me.  But I believe him."

            Percy was silent for a long time, thinking.  It was insane. He wanted to reject it.  And yet, the more it inflicted itself on his mind, the more plausible it sounded.  And yet such a gruesome idea.  Even a mere body wasn't sacred to Voldemort.

            "They can implant personalities where there are none," Penelope continued, mostly to herself.  "They can do whatever they want. It's like creating their own souls."  She shivered.  "I hate it. Hold me."

            He obediently put his arm around her, feeling her shake.  "But Lupin mentioned polyjuice potion.  Like it was important. He said that was what Dormand had in his office.  He seemed to think. . ."  No.  This is what he had completely rejected then.  Again, Percy was not watching his superiors, and Lupin half-wanted to accuse him of such again.  But this was it. He had known it himself, somewhere deep where he didn't to pull it out.  Polyjuice potion.  The morphing of Dormand's features.  The familiarity.  But he couldn't admit it even to himself.

            "Percy?  I thought you were going to take me home."

            Thoughtlessly they resumed walking.

            Penelope cleared her throat. "What are you thinking about?"  It was a demand.

            He shook his head, disbelieving.  

            "Tell me."

            It was going to come out sooner or later.  But it didn't feel like he was even speaking. "Penny, what do you know of Crouch?"

            "What?"  Her face twisted in near-rage.  "What are you talking about?"

            "What I said.  What do you know of Crouch?"

            She blinked, bewildered.  "He's dead.  His son murdered him.  He. . . Percy, you can't be serious.  He's dead, he can't be taking polyjuice potion."

            Now for the rest of it.  "I know he can't.  I told you how I saw his face changed.  That's what I understand happens as the potion begins to wear off.  He looked familiar then.  I couldn't place it until just barely."

            "But Crouch is dead!"

            "But what did they do to Crouch, Jr.?"

            She gasped, clutching tightly at Percy's robe.  "Fudge. . . Fudge sent a Dementor on him.  Oh, hell."

            Percy felt her excitement.  Or perhaps it was his own.  "At first I thought it was my old boss.  But some things were wrong.  But father and son can have similarities.  It has to be him."

            "Ugh."

            "Do you know what was done with him after the Dementor kissed him?" he asked urgently.

            "You were in the Ministry; I thought you might know."  She stopped again.  The tavern where she was staying  was in front of them.  "We're here."

            "We are."  All the excitement drained from him, leaving him lethargic and weak.  "I guess. . ."  At least he could get a good-night kiss out of this mess.

            Penelope seemed to have the same idea and leaned toward him.

            "Percy!  Penelope!"  A whirling cry jolted them both to their senses.

            Valentine Munk ran up the road, waving a messy bunch of parchment in her hand.  "I came up with something!  We have to talk now!"

            Penelope shot Percy a "not-my-fault" smile. 

            Percy had a sudden urge to kill Valentine. "What is it?"

            Valentine's eyes were like flames as she flipped through the parchment. "Winston's been delving about that Jason fellow. . ."

            "What's going on?"

            Great.  Another interruption.

            Asa Cortez stood  in the tavern doorway, smiling pleasantly if not with forced patience.  "Senorita Clearwater, you should be in!  You promised you wouldn't be late tonight, si.  Muy late."

            Penelope blushed deeply.  "I'm very sorry, Healer Cortez.  We just. . ."  She gestured nervously at Valentine.

            "Well, you had best say goodnight and get inside.  We have lessons very early tomorrow."

            "Um."  She kissed Percy quickly. "Goodnight. I really must go in.  Pearl's probably full of gossip."

            "Goodnight," he replied.  He didn't like the way the Healer was watching him.

            "She shall see you both tomorrow once the day's training is complete," Asa said with a smile.  "Goodnight."

            Valentine gave a quick laugh and pushed a thick curl from her face. "I'm not very fond of that woman.  She comes here with her students, ignores us for forever, then suddenly puts me in for an interrogation.  Psycho.  I'd like to set a dragon on her.  So, Percy—or is it still John?  Do you want to hear me out?"

            "Tomorrow," he said dully.  He Apparated back to his tent.


	24. A few things out of the way

Sometimes Percy hated sleep.  He had never been to suffer the slavery of the night where anything and every part of him could appear in the most imposing form ever.  In fact, he dreamed rarely.  Sleep had always been what the body desired, rest, and in recent times a refuge.  But nothing was every complete and on occasion he did dream.  And then they were nightmares, visions of only what a time among the Death Eaters could show.  He had never been in deep, just to the outskirts his opposition from the Ministry had forced him.  But he had still seen things, heard things.  

That night, the dream was vague, a rush of colored flame and black cloaks and low voices.  He was nowhere in the dream, a meaningless presence that drifted about the icy dream-bodies.  And then he existed, just enough to feel the sting of the flame that cut into his arm, again and again.

"Good morning, Mr. Ignatius."

The flame was gone, the Death Eaters were gone, and Percy was sitting up yelling like a child.

"Honestly," retorted Valentine's voice, her body but a blonde and brown blur above his couch.  "You don't have to scream."

He reached for his glasses, somewhere on the floor.  He felt them once, but only managed to send them rolling further.  "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you last night.  I need to talk to you.  I have something.  Winston loves, I thought you might agree."

He managed to retrieve his glasses and set them firmly on his face.  "You could have waited until I came to the office."

Valentine jolted, nearly slipping from her position on the couch back.  "You can't be serious!  How foolish would that be?"

"No more foolish than you sneaking in here.  Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

A look of near-sympathy passed over her face as she shook her head.  "Oh, grow up.  No one cares.  It's barely dawn as it is."

Percy climbed to his feet, tucked the blankets into the hide-a-bed, and rolled it back into the couch.  "That's what makes it awful."

"I don't even like you that way, John."  Nearly an insult in bitter taste.

Annoyed, he sat back on the newly folded couch, eyes away from Valentine.  "You're getting off-topic.  You came to see me about something?"

"Yes!"  He heard a rustle of parchment.  "I made these last night! I was at the tavern and good ol' inspiration just struck me.  Here.  Read."  She dumped the parchment into his lap.

He stared at them, not even moving as one sheet slid from the haphazard pile onto the floor.  "What are they?"

"Letters!"

She wasn't going to go away.  With a sigh, he picked up the top sheet in the stack and read.  It began mid-sentence—evidently a continuation of the fallen one.  He picked that up and read it.  "It's to Jason Gunnion."

"Uh-huh."

He scanned the letter again.  "It's in. . .it's in Dormand's handwriting."  He half-wondered if that was Barty Crouch Jr.'s true scrawl.

Valentine clapped excitedly.  "Perfect!  You're following perfectly, Percy!  I've always been good at forgery, did it all the time in my school days, you know.  Then I also picked up this completely disapproved-of charm that further completes the forgery.  No one could tell Dormand didn't write this!  The handwriting is perfect, these should distract Mr. Gunnion for at least a month!"

Percy turned around to stare at her.  "You keep switching my names."  In horrified realization he remembered she had did the same thing the night before;  he had been thinking too much about Penelope and Crouch to notice.

"So you finally noticed."  There was no embarrassment for her to hide, just a knowing smile and a tilt of her head.  "I was waiting for you to know, Percy Weasley."

His name.  Penelope had said it, Remus had said.  No one else was. . .allowed to!  "How did you--?  You overheard Penny. .."

"She helped.  She and that new guy in town, that Lupin fellow.  They try to be careful, and they were good.  But no one can be perfect."  She picked at a piece of lint on the couch and flicked it disdainfully to the floor.  

"You know who I am?"

She shrugged ambiguously.  "Not really.  Dormand's new secretary.  Or someone fleeing from either side of the war.  I had a feeling when you first came here."

So there went the idea of hiding.  To think he couldn't even manage that much.  "And you let me stay?"

"Don't worry.  I can't figure out many details.  And then there was Dormand's personal story of redemption."

"What redemption?" he muttered.

It was almost satisfying to see surprise creep into Valentine's face.  Some secret had escaped her spying.  "What?"

He flipped through the letters, reluctantly admiring the brilliant plan.  If only it would work.  

"Percy, you're not telling me anything."

"It's just a theory we came up with."

"We as in you, Penelope, and Mr. Lupin."  She sniffed.  "I want to hear it anyways."

She was involved as well.  She had every right to know.  He shook his head and handed back the letters.  "These are good, Valentine.  Really good.  And I'll tell you.  I just think Morsley should hear as well."

"Of course he should!" she sang.  "Get into some real clothes and I'll meet you outside."  She stuck the letters into her robe pocket and ran out the tent flap.

Percy felt the beginnings of a smile on his face as he hopped in the shower.

By the time he emerged, the sun was climbing into the sky and a small group had mustered past his tent near the beginnings of the woods.  Evidently Valentine had saw fit to bring Brogan Marchent as well as Winston Morsley.

"I thought we could take a walk in the woods," Valentine explained.  "A bit more privacy there, from prying ears."

Percy's eyes met Marchent's, who only frowned.  Percy didn't want to repeat the experience of the other night.  Again came the question. . . how was Brogan controlled then?

"We can't go into the woods," Brogan said, echoing Percy's thoughts.

Valentine whirled at him with a stunned laugh, adding whatever lightness she could give.  "What's wrong with the woods?  They're perfectly safe."

Morsley choked back a laugh.

Marchent seemed to take that as offense.  "We can't go there.  At least. . . at least not very far in."

To place where he had attacked Percy and Penelope.  Percy locked eyes with him once more.  

"Brogan, you were attacked down there yourself," Morsley said in sudden realization.  "That's where. . . the dragon was.  But that was much farther down."

Valentine let out an irritated sigh and plopped down on the grass.  "Fine, then.  Mr. Ignatius, tell us that theory here."

Marchent raised an eyebrow.  "Is this the one Lupin came up with?"

"The one," Percy confirmed.  He set into the theory, the puppet-like control of the soulless, almost relishing the look of horror on Valentine's face.  He even mentioned Crouch in passing, referring to him as a forced victim once again of polyjuice potion.

Morsley shook his head slowly.  "If you're right. . .and it makes so much sense.  But if you're right, we've been under someone else's command all this time."  He looked almost sick.

"Not a happy thought," Valentine said slowly.  She ripped the Gunnion letters out again.  "Does this mean these things are any good anymore?  Did I make these for nothing?"

Morsley gently tugged the parchment from her hands.  "I think they just might cause enough positive confusion for us to work with, assuming Gunnion is controlled.  But then again, he could be a pawn like us."

That seemed to placate Valentine.

Marchent said nothing.  Of course he had heard the theory already.  But his silence seemed more than that.  He didn't look at the others, but stared down into the woods, his face like stone.

Valentine watched him worridly.  "Brogan?  Are you okay?"

He gave a dry laugh, vacant of any humor.  "I get it now.  It makes perfect sense. Didn't yesterday, but I suppose I just had to be here.  Last night, last week. . ."  Again, the bitter laugh.

"Mr. Marchent?" Percy started.

"There's something down there," he said loudly, climbing to his feet.  "It's where I was attacked. . . it's what I was to block you from last night.  We're not allowed down there.  But at least I saw more than you."

Morsley leapt up, body rigid. "Marchent, what are you talking about?  You wouldn't know anything about. . . whatever!"

"I know enough."

Knowing terror passed over Morsley's face.  "Ignatius, help me.  Grab his arms."

Percy fumbled through his robes for his wand.  Physically holding the man wouldn't help.  Percy had seen this before, common in the Death Eater society.  "He may need to be stunned."

"There's not enough. . ."

Marchent whipped stray hair from his face.  "Don't worry, I won't be attacking any of you this time."  The voice wasn't his. 

"Damn everything," Valentine muttered.  "He's crazy."

And with a bang he was gone.  

Percy finally found his wand.  Too late.  "Does he do this often?" he asked the other two.

"He gets mad," Valentine said slowly.  "But never like this."

Percy thought of the time Marchent had stormed from Dormand's office.

And then Marchent was back, another figure with him, Dormand in a full-body bind.  

"Close your eyes, Miss Munk," Marchent growled, pulling a knife from his robe.  He raised it, and lowered it with a sickening thud into Dormand's stiff chest, once, twice, three times.


	25. The Order

Thanks to my wonderful readers: nkittyhawk, Kemenran, hydraspit, Molly234, inu lover, Crystal Lightening, Kate Lyn. You guys are amazing for putting up with this.

Percy and Morsley both grabbed for Marchent, but did so even knowing it was much too late.  Dormand had not screamed—the body-bind spell took care of that.  A thought crossed Percy's mind: was Dormand capable of screaming?  Was physical mortality and pain so natural and base that even a shell could react?  Perhaps it was best he didn't know.  He and Morsley knocked into Marchent, somewhat distracting him from his actions.  But Marchent was stronger than either of them.  Eyes near flaming, he swung the knife at them, no motion to attack, but a definite suggestion to move back.

"Brogan, you're insane," Morsely said breathily, reaching for the hand that wielded the knife.

Marchent managed to stab Dormand again.  Blood spurted from the stiff chest like a hot red fountain, staining the soil.  From behind the men came sobs.  Valentine.

The wand, moron, Percy thought suddenly.  He pulled it from his robes and aimed it at Marchent.  "Petrificus totalus!"  The same spell he had used on his victim.  A control over irony was a good thing.

The bloody knife fell from Marchent's grip as he collapsed, board-like, to the earth.  Dormand fell next to him, blood flow not yet ebbing.  He lay like a mannequin in a pool of blood.  Morsley stepped back, face pale.  "Oh, hell.  Oh hell," he murmured.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Percy thought wildly.  This wasn't supposed to happen.  This was the most. . . illegal. . . wrong thing. . . he realized Dormand's blood stained his robes as well.  With a barely-functioning arm he tried to push it away.

"Why did he do that?" Valentine's shrill voice cried.

What a thing for her to watch.  Percy turned slowly, finding difficulty in tearing his eyes away from the body.

Morsley knelt on the ground next to Valentine, his arms around her as she sobbed into his shoulder.  "Why the hell did he do that?" she repeated.

It didn't feel real.  But it was.  Prefect instincts, they were supposed to take over soon!  With a deep breath, Percy returned to Dormand.  The body was limp now, evidently the spell had warn off.  Dormand lay doll-like, staring emptily at the sky.  So much like the prior morning.  Except then he hadn't been. . .   Percy knelt over him and felt for the carotid artery.  Nothing.  No breathing, no sign of life except for the flowing red.  Dormand was dead.  Crouch was dead.  The last one.  Even as Percy watched, the features melted and twisted into the fame of Barty Crouch, Jr.  The final evidence.

"Who is he?" Morsley asked, voice filled with amazement.  "Do you know him?"

"I used to work for his father," came the toneless reply.  He had practically led Crouch, Sr. to his death.  Now his son?  Mind whirling into nothing, he raised his wand and released Marchent from the body-bind.  Valentine shrieked and clung tighter to Morsley.

Laughing weakly, Marchent climbed to his feet.  His hands and arms were covered in blood.  He stood above Crouch, face aglow.  "So he was someone else all along.  The werewolf was right.  And I killed him.  He lied to us, and I killed him.  I killed him.  His face suddenly changed, and his body shook.  "I killed him."

"Yes, you did."  Percy found himself saying.

Marchent whirled to Percy, horrified realization utterly evident.  "I killed him.  No, no.  I couldn't have.  I couldn't have."  He stared at his hands, still dripping.  "No."

"Well," said Remus matter-of-factly.  "He's dead.  That much is clear."  He wiped his hands, bloody from checking the body, on the grass.

"I'm the doctor here," Penelope said, voice trembling as she tried to remain calm.  "I could have told you that."

Percy's next course of action had been to retrieve Penelope.  Of course, she had insisted Remus Lupin come along.  To do what? He wondered.  What interested could the Order possibly have in a dead body?

"Doesn't it please you to know your theory was correct?" Marchent asked venomously.

"In the presence of a dead man?" Remus asked.  He shook his head.  "The theory holds no emotions for me.  It was an idea that happened to be true.  What more can I say?"

"The puppet they created is destroyed."  Marchent was still stunned over what he had done.

"Just shut up!" Percy shouted, marching over.  "I don't think you realize what you've done!"

"Oh, I understand perfectly.  You're not the one who held the knife."

"You didn't do this in hospitilization when you realized what Dormand—I mean Crouch had done to you," Penelope said.

Marchent sighed and shook his head. He sat apart, like he had done the prior morning after the attack.  "I don't understand. Perhaps I was too weak then. I've always had a temper."

"We've seen it before," Morsley said.  "But you've never killed anyone—"

"He betrayed us!" Marchent shouted, jumping to his feet.  "He lied to us!  No, someone else did!  Someone was controlling this… thing!"

"And that's exactly what you've ruined!" Percy exclaimed.  "Think about it!  Crouch…Dormand was the one protection you had!  We all thought he was real!  And you and Winston and Valentine have worked with him for ages!  For all we know, Jason Gunnion thought him real!  And now he's dead. No, not dead. Murdered.  Do you think Gunnion or whoever was controlling him will not get suspicious?"

His fear had been voiced out loud.  Silence filled the air.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Valentine finally said.  

"What I'm saying is that we're now in danger!  They know we know!"  Percy felt strangely alive, his fury overpowering him.  He had always had a temper—nothing like Marchent's, of course—but anger had always been close to him.  But he hadn't truly felt it… not like this… in so long….

"Who's they?"

Oh, good grief.  If the girl wasn't so upset. . .

Penelope slipped her hand into Percy's.  "But it's one more out of the way.  Whoever was controlling Crouch might even have to appear."

"What about the Dementors?" Remus asked.

She blinked.  "Dementors?"

He gazed pointedly at Marchent.  "Brogan, you mentioned something in the woods.  Something you were supposed to be keeping us from the other night."

Marchent met Remus' eyes.  "I guess I have my own little theory."

"Will you show us?"

"I'm not following that lunatic!" Morsley spat.  "Valentine's about ready to crack, so I should take her. . ."

She shook her head.  "No, no.  I'm fine.  I want to see these.  And you'll be coming, of course."

Percy looked to Penelope.  He wasn't keen on following Marchent, either.  

"Percy, this is important," she pleaded.  "We'll be safe.  I don't think Marchent would attack one of us."

"He did the other night."

"We're with him. He can't be Imperioused with us around."

Percy wasn't so certain.

Marchent started into the trees, the others following at a safe distance behind him.  At first the woods were familiar, the same ones Percy had hiked through on his way to the village.  Valentine's fear ebbed somewhat and she rambled on about the different trees and how they'd find an old dragon's nest if they had turned back at such a point.  It was irritating to Percy.  This was serious.  Gradually the trees changed, seemed to darken.  The earth dipped beneath them into a gully, deep, shady, and full of low-hanging willows.

"Further down stream, of course," Remus murmured to himself.

"Stop!" Penelope suddenly shrieked.

Percy squeezed her hand.  "What's wrong?"

"It's. . ."  Her feet nearly gave out beneath her, and she fell into Percy's side.

He caught her.  "Penny?"

"Dementors," Remus said.  

"I don't see any. . ." Morsley began.

"They're gone, of course," Valentine replied.  Her voice was strangely still. "It's not very powerful. . ."

As Percy listened, his heart began to race.  Not the full-out horror of dementors hung in the gully, but something else. . .whisps of bad memories he couldn't quite bring out.

"They were here shortly ago," Marchent said.  "They've… left.  But not very long ago."

"Is this what they were plotting?" Morsley asked softly.  "There are Dementors around here.  And then… us… in Dragon's Tooth."

Valentine laughed weakly.  "Forget the dragon army.  There's us.  Well, at least my dragons are safe.  Oh, Winston, we have to do something."

"So that's what they had in store for the Order," Percy realized.

"So Dumbledore sent me out here for a reason," Penelope said softly.

"Dumbledore. . ." Percy echoed.  Sudden rage welled up inside of him.  "What?!"

Penelope pushed herself away, expression bewildered.  "I mean.. . Percy. . ."

"You're in the Order of the Phoenix?" It was too much to believe.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was a secret."

Valentine, Marchent, and Morsley stood back, Dementors forgotten.

"Percy, we're both in the Order—" Remus started.

Percy couldn't believe it.  This was too much on top of everything else… she had kept a secret from him.  "So you're in the Order.  And you managed to find a wanted man.  Did you tell them I was out here?"  He whirled on Remus.  "Did she tell you I was out here?"

"I had no idea you were here!"

Penelope was now crying.  "No one was supposed to know.  I couldn't tell you at first, for obvious reasons.  And even when I trusted you. . ."

"You still couldn't trust me enough to tell me?" Percy said.  "So is that what you've been doing out here?  Spying on me?"

She stared at him, lip trembling, as she tried to fight back her tears.

How he hated seeing her cry.  "Penny, I. . ."

"I hate you!"  With that, she vanished.

"She's in the Order of the Phoenix?" Morsley asked dumbly.

Shaking, Percy turned to Remus.  "Did you know?  Of course you knew. You're in it with her."

"I didn't know she hadn't told you."  Remus sighed.  "This is going to ruin you someday."

"Hmph."  Percy sat down on the damp grass and let the Dementor-whisps attack his mind.


	26. Betrayal

Penelope amazed herself at the extent with which she was able to put up with Percy.  Feminine sympathy was a curse, then, making excuses and explanations of why anyone would be so offended by a simple lack of truth.  Most of his family were in the Order, a family he had made little contact with in years.  Foolish of him to remain so stubborn, but she still didn't know all of what he had experienced.  Who knew what fear he held for the Order, the Weasleys.  What would they say or do if they knew where he was?  How would they react?  Real life was never as simple as anyone wanted it to be, and after what Percy had done to them it was unimaginable they couldn't harbor some scars.  Penelope pitied him.  Not, it was than pity.  Despite his silly actions in the gully, she still loved him—they could be entitled to a small fight now and then, of course.  She had dragged things from him, stories he'd probably never tell anyone else. And they didn't need to be told to the world.  No one really needed to hear nightmares about Death Eaters and what not.

She just wished Percy would try to talk to his family in spite of his fears.  What a rush she had felt upon learning he was writing to Ginny.  That was one step.  Percy had hurt Ginny, but had not severed all ties.  But what about the rest of the family?  The consequences would very likely be negative, but not as so as what was happening now.  They didn't even know where he was; closure was necessary for everyone.  If they estranged him or he did the same to himself, well, what was the present situation anyway.

She sighed deeply and punched the pillow before her as she lay on her bed, tears still fighting their ways out.  These were things she needed to be telling him.  If she truly loved him, she could tell him.  Oh, why did love have to be so confusing?  Her spilling thoughts had contradicted themselves a thousand times over.  Who was she to judge Percy, just because she was his girlfriend?  Percy wasn't  a Death Eater, but did that mean he was the same loveable prefect she had known at Hogwarts?

She had heard something that explained the situation well.  That thought, that strange line Crouch had used in his Matthis Dormand role.  Brown.  The color of redemption.  Ever after something was accounted for, even after a person changed, he could never go back, not fully.  The pure white was gone, the red sin was gone, all replaced by that color of earthy knowledge.

She laughed weakly and wiped her still-red eyes.  Giving into symbolism.  Symbolism that had been used as propaganda, even.  Who had come up with the silly line, anyway?  Surely the soulless couldn't be that creative.  Yet perhaps it still retained some meaning.  And what about herself?  What was she doing but harboring a wanted criminal?  And lying to the criminal just because she couldn't bring herself to break his heart by revealing herself a member of an organization he had so many issues with?

Breaking his heart.  Was that what she had been trying to prevent.  Incredible how irony worked.

A tentative rap at the door broken though her thoughts.  She lifted her head from the pillow, gazing dully at the door as if she expected it to do something., like mock her for the bedraggled appearance she knew she must have.

The knock came again.  "Penelope?" Pearl's voice asked.  "You need to come out of there some time today."

Penelope had already chased Pearl out once.  "I'm perfectly happy in here, thank-you very much."  Much more snap than she actually felt toward her friend.

"You've been crying for hours," Pearl whined, opening the door.  "Now you get to Asa.  She wants to speak with you."

Asa probably wanted to bash guys with her again.  Asa was wonderful, but she just couldn't understand.  The Healer's fear of Percy. . . she couldn't claim proper fear without knowing the whole story—which Penelope was not about to give.  With a  few final sniffles, Penelope climbed to her feet.  Might as well humor Asa.

Pearl shook her head in relief to see her friend properly up.  Face aglow, she dowsed Penelope with a quick hair-brushing charm.  "She wants to get on you about the training, I bet.  Perhaps some teary eyes will earn you some blind pity."

"I'm not at all back on training," Penelope replied.  "I'm guessing she wants to discuss.. . . men."

"You're right."  Pearl frowned.  "Goodness knows you need it.  She wants you in her room."

Asa Cortez's room was a tiny apartment set in the corner of the tavern, leaving her purposely lacking a roommate and to her own privacy.  Well, the woman was the Head Healer of the group.  Hoping her eyes weren't pathetically red, Penelope knocked on the door.

"Entre, por favor, Miss Clearwater," came the cheery reply.

Penelope did, and found the Healer at her desk writing.  Asa let her quill fall to the parchment as she looked up to greet Penelope.  The quill left a heavy drip of jet-black ink all over the careful writing.  Asa did not appear to notice.  "I have a few things to discuss with you.  Conjur up a chair for yourself."

"I'll stand, Healer Cortez."  Penelope felt strange, a statue in a  foggy night void of all emotions she knew she should be feeling except those concerning Percy.  "Discussions" with superiors were rarely good, euphemisms that hid only the worst beratings.  So where was the panic?  

"Bien."  Asa drew a deep breath and turned in her chair.  "Lo primero es primero.  I'm ending the training period early.  We'll be going back to St. Mungo's next week."

"That soon?"  A sparked reaction.  A separation from Percy.  "But we just. . ."

"Sì, sì.  We'll probably return later.  But now. . . I'd rather not be here.  I care too much for my students." Her wrinkled face softened as she gave a sad smile.

"You're suggesting it's not safe here, Healer?"  Brown.  The Dementors in the gully.  How much did Asa know?  Empathy overcame Penelope.  She had a glimpse of the terror Asa might feel.

Asa nodded.  "Exactly.  Too much el peligro, too much danger, for my students.  Even you, Penelope, boy-crazy as you are.  I warned you about that young man. . ."

Back to the dating.  "It's nothing," Penelope said as her heart twisted inside of her.  "Just a silly tiff."

"But perhaps it's not that chico extraño," Asa continued as if Penelope had never spoken.  Her eyes glistened with tears.  "I thought I could trust the aprendices I brought out here.  I thought nothing would distract them from the art of healing.  A noble idea.  Oh, I don't mind summer flings—you're well up on your training—but there are other things. . ."  She raised an eyebrow.  "Do you have your wand?"

A strange question.  "It's. . . it's in my room. I didn't think I needed it to talk to you.  I was upset."

Asa waved the words aside, a tear escaping her eye.  "No, no.  Just curious.. . . oh, Penelope.  You're such wonderful young lady and a talented healer.  So sad."  She took her own wand from the desk and traced a glowing circle in the air.  The light shimmered, then froze and dimmed to a smoky gray ring.

A terrible feeling came over Penelope, a quickening of her heart, the sudden panic that should have been there the moment Asa called for her.  And with that came realization.  She glanced back at the door, imagining what spells locked it.  Then her eyes were back on the ring.

A black shape appeared within it, tall and cloaked and carrying a deadening aura.

Penelope couldn't conjur a proper patronus.  Especially not without her wand.

"For a long time, I didn't want to believe you were in the Order of the Phoenix," came Asa's voice from what seemed miles off.  "Las noticias terribles, las noticias tristes, un descubrimiento que odio tanto.  Sadly, I have higher devotions."

Penelope couldn't scream.  There was room in her whirling mind for it.  Too many horrible things to hear, to see. . . 

Three days since the gully.  Three horribly long, hard days without Penelope.  Percy returned everyday to the tavern, demanding to speak to her, only to be told she didn't want to speak to him.  How could she refuse him an explanation?  After all she had put up with from him… it was his fault, he had to go and drag the worst in.  Over a silly thing like that.  He appreciated the secrecy of the Order.  Evidently, Penelope must have had her reasons.  Reasons to keep such a secret from him.  He pained him to think he wasn't worth that kind of honesty.  But that didn't matter.  All that mattered was that he had hurt Penny and she wouldn't listen to his apology.

Things were slipping back into frame.  No work, just frequent rushes of plans of what to do know that Crouch, Jr. was no longer in the picture.  He had been buried—Remus Lupin had insisted that much.  Percy just couldn't understand why the Order hadn't been informed by that time.  No doubt they would have found the reappearance of Crouch fascinating.  Everyone in the village did, sickened by the idea that they had been deceived so.  And then work picked up again, some semblance to keep life going while the Dementors lurked in the gully beneath them.  And as the days passed, life was deemed fine.

Except for Penelope.  Percy stopped again near the tavern, staring up at her window, waiting.

Someone had to be told that Barty Crouch, Jr. Was dead.  Sooner of later, the Order would have to know.  And with Penelope Clearwater still undercover, that task fell upon Remus Lupin.  It was a task he had dreaded during the week following the murder, especially after leaving the village of Dragon's Tooth.  Out of the village, back in the mainstream of the wizarding world, the revelations of Crouch's fate and the true nature of Brown seemed the obvious thing to do.  But Remus had grown up keeping far too many secrets, and logically he couldn't see much threat from that area of the war, not with Lord Voldemort in so much power everywhere else.  In all honesty, what could be said?  Remus trusted Penelope; all in all, this seemed her dealing.  So, again, he remained silent, holding some mirth at the notion of being under the command of a former student.

Besides, he had other challenges.  As promised, he had not yet told the Weasleys about Percy.  It had not been so difficult—the times around them had been reasonably few and more considerate of non-sentimental matters.

            But then Molly had invited Remus to dinner, something ordinary and simple.  A refreshment they all needed.  No discussion on the war whatsoever, she stated in the tiger-like manner only Molly possessed.

            Amazingly enough, the meal was not quite as awkward as Remus imagined it might be.  The conversation remained light.  After all, it was summer holiday, and topics managed to relate safely to Quidditch and the upcoming school year.  No mention of Percy, and no stepping around him.  There was nothing to step around; he didn't exist.  The only anomaly was Ginny, who chattered away happily in her way, only to throw a serious glance at Remus whenever she could, a defiant dare that he ask her something.  And he did once or twice, but she only replied by laughing and bringing up something trivial.

            Remus felt strange in the house.  He had grown comfortable at the Burrow in recent times, but after learning where Percy was, he felt like a liar, a cheat.  The Weasleys deserved to know, and yet he didn't tell them.  Did he not owe them that much?  But the final answer was that it was simply not his responsibility.

            Which was why he was so surprised when Ginny approached him as he made to leave.  She came running from the door, hair streaming like fire behind her and face aglow.  "Professor Lupin!"

            He stopped, a smile coming to his face.  He had enjoyed teaching, and it was always pleasant to hear that title.  "Are you finally going to tell me what's on your mind?"

            She stopped before him, looking suddenly very nervous. Her eyes fell to the ground, her body shifting as she crumpled something in he hand.  Then her eyes were on his in a fling of the most bravery she could summon.  "You know where my brother is."

            It hadn't been the question he was expecting.  No, not a question.  A statement, a straight-forward accusation.  Remus could only stare at Ginny, the small girl who evidently could say what he couldn't.  "Which one?" he managed to stammer stupidly.

            Ginny didn't flinch.  "You know very well who I mean. I got a letter from Percy. . ."

            "You've been writing to Percy?"  This was something unimaginable.

            She nodded.  "Ever since he left.  Mostly I write, but something replies."

            This had never been mentioned before.  He glanced at the house, wondering what this might look like.  "Does your family know about this?"

            "No. I think they'd get mad.  Especially after what happened with Dad. . ."

            The attack.  Did Ginny know the truth.  Well, if they were writing. . . "I think I interrupted you, Ginny.  Carry on with what you were talking about before."

            She nodded and drew a deep breath.  "I got a letter from him.  An actual happy one.  He doesn't send a lot of those.  But he talked about a girl and, well, I know the only girl he ever loved was Penelope Clearwater.  So it had to be her.  He didn't really say, but I know.  And you've been out there helping her, and. . ."  Her look became pleading.

He wasn't sure how to answer this. It was a request.  Ginny apparently had to know.  He bit his lip, considering his promise to Percy.  How furious he would be if he learned Remus had tattled.  But then again, Ginny already had guessed.  He found himself nodding.  "He's out there.  He really didn't want you to know."

The nervousness washed from Ginny's face with one large smile.  "That's good to hear.  I. . . I actually was going to send you a letter asking you about it."  She laughed and opened her hand to reveal a crumpled piece of parchment.  "But then Mum invited you for dinner…oh, she wanted me to help her with the dishes!"  A complete pivot to the worries of a normal teenage girl.  "Thank-you so much for telling me.  Goodbye." She darted back into the house.

Remus watched her until she closed the door, then laughed. He had always liked Ginny, she was a good kid.  Amazing for writing to her brother like she did.  He shook his head, scarcely believing.  Perhaps there was hope for the family after all.

He had barely walked in the door of his home when he spotted the owl, a small reddish one patiently waiting at the windowsill, a note clasped to its talon.

"Mail's here," he said softly, taking the note and dropping a coin into the owl's money pouch.

It was a short note, scrawled in the neat handwriting he recognized as Penelope's.

"Dear Remus,

            We've decided it's the best time to explain to the rest of the Order what's been going on out here.  I think you should bring some others on your next trip out."

He read the note again, then set it on the table.  What relief he felt.  Another secret to get rid of.


	27. Dementor's Kiss

"The letters can be changed a little bit," Valentine mused, absentmindedly tracing an invisible pattern on the floor of the office where she sat with Winston Morsley and Percy.  "The ones I forged, I mean.  I can make them even more confusing.  At least, confusing enough that this Jason Gunnion will stay far, far away from the village."  She gave a wane smile and shook her head sadly.  "To think they still get to come to some use.  I think I'm actually a bit happy about that."

"Hm."  Winston shrugged.  "They're basically all we have to rely on right now.  Confuse Mr. Gunnion enough… he doesn't come here.  And we live out the rest of our natural lives hiding…damn, this is a really pathetic plan."

Valentine ripped her hand from the floor in a terrifying moment where she might as well swung her nails at Winston's face.  "We are not going into hiding!  How can we, what with the Dementors everywhere around here?"

"The Dementors have as much right to be here as we do," Winston replied seriously.  "At least they weren't being taken in."

"So now I'm a Dementor, am I?  I have to live among them?!"

It was a strange conversation to follow, mostly Valentine and Morsley arguing and Percy drifting his attention in only when it seemed important enough to fully hear.  He mostly nodded and gave vague sounds of agreement or disproval, rarely volunteering an opinion.  A strange state for him, the one famous for dropping in opinions, mostly unwanted.  "We could just leave," he said in a rare speech, voice demonstrating little excitement for his own idea.  

The fury left Valentine as she gazed at Percy. "Leave?  What do you mean?"

"You're the one who didn't consider staying her hiding," Winston ventured.

"Shut up;  I'm talking to Percy.  You really want us to leave?"

Was it really such an off-the-wall idea?  Percy shrugged, not making eye contact.  His hood had been allowed to slip off, and he still felt some embarrassment at his scar.  But that wasn't what was bothering him.  "If we leave, we were never here.  And if we were never hear, we weren't involved."

Valentine snorted her disproval, and Winston even dared laugh.  "But we are involved.  I think it's a bit late to change that."

"No one has to know that much."

"So you want us to leave the village with whoever will follow us," Valentine began.  "And leave the Dementors and whomever the hell is controlling them back here."  She angrily shoved a lock of hair from her face. "Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"

Now that she mentioned it, he did.  "I guess we just can't get up and walk away," he admitted.  

"Thank-you."

"That would look suspicious."

She sighed.  "Percy, I don't know what your problem is.  I suspected you had one when you first came here, but I and every other solitary soul were willing to let it go, and now you have to come dragging it out again."

"I'm not dragging anything out."  That was true.  He had said nothing of what he had done to Morsley or Valentine or anyone else in the village.  It wasn't for them to hear.  He was simply Percy Weasley, the guy who had once gone under the name of John Ignatius.  One of the people had had helped discover that the organization of Brown they had all been so supportive of was nothing more than a cover-up.  And Percy didn't want to be involved in anything else wrong again.  It only led to disaster.  But how could they possible understand that? 

"The Healers are leaving," Winston pointed out.  "Tomorrow, in fact, if I've heard right."

Percy's head snapped up.  "The Healers are leaving tomorrow?"

Winston seemed confused, wondering why someone would get so worked up over something that trivial.  "Yes.  I suppose someone warned them about what was going on here."

Penny, Percy thought wildly. He hadn't seen her yet, but… she couldn't just leave.

Valentine, at least, was sympathetic.  "His girlfriend's one of the trainees, you idiot," she snapped at Winston.  "Percy, just. . . just go talk to her.  Barge in their if you have to.  Who cares if she's mad?  She probably still wants to hear an apology—anything—from you."

Percy hadn't seen her in so long…. She couldn't remain mad forever, not after all else he had done.  "I know. . . I just. . .I just don't want her to leave."

Valentine smiled and patted his arm. "I know you don't.  Just do as I say and go talk to her."

As if on cue, a rap came at the door.

Winston moaned. "That had better not be Marchent again."  Ever since Crouch's murder, Marchent had been but an unwelcome presence.  He seemed shocked and horrified by what he had done, but it had happened once too many times.  Marchent's temper couldn't be trusted.  A sad thing, everyone admitted.  Marchent really was a good person, but he had suffered too much.

"I'll get it," Percy said, standing up.

It was not Brogan Marchent.  It was Pearl, Penelope's friend.  She hung some distance from the door, close enough only to knock, as if some presence forced her back.  Or she simply didn't want to enter the building.

Percy had rarely spoken to Pearl.  She was just "the friend", someone he might see when he saw Penelope.  But what was she doing here, by herself, looking so afraid.  "Pearl," he managed to stammer.

She nodded, too quickly for either one's comfort.  "You're here. I hoped you'd be.  I need to talk to you."

Bad news.  "Would you. . would you want to come inside and talk there?"

She shook her head, again much too quickly. "No!"  She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.  Then she smiled. "I feel so silly. I'm getting all worked up, and I don't even know what over. It's just. . . oh, it's Penelope. I knew you had a fight with her last week. . ."

What was she talking about?  Was Pearl the medium for an apology.

"I'm really worried about her," Peal continued.  

No.  This couldn't be it. Had he really upset her that much?  "Pearl, you know as well as I do how I've tried to apology. I'm never allowed to see her. .."

"No, it's not that.  It's not that at all.  At first, I thought that was what it was, but it can't be.  It's just so. . . I don't know how to explain it.  Look, Penelope is not herself."

Not herself.  The words echoed through his mind, void of any meaning.  Something tiny inside of him awoke, panicked, sensing something.  But it wasn't strong enough. Or Percy just wouldn't listen.  "I don't understand."

Pearl was near tears.  "Neither do I.  She's not upset or anything, and she still talks to me.  But not really about anything.  I mean, she still gossips, and I guess if you didn't know her you'd think she was normal, but she seems… I don't know… almost a shadow.  She's been like that all week.  And she says she doesn't want to leave the village with us or complete her Healer training.  And Healer Cortez is just going to let her go like that.  Penelope was so excited about her training. . ."

The panic became louder, now struggling to make itself heard.  It suspected something, knew something.  But Percy couldn't understand.  "Where is she?" he demanded.  "I have to see her now."

"I don't know," Pearl answered, choking back a sob.  "She's. . ."  She froze for a moment, then looked up the street.  "She's right there.  Running errands or something.  She's. . .she's normal, too normal.  I can't be seen with you.  Oh, you have to do something.  If you love her, you will."  With that, she vanished.

Percy stood in the doorway, watching Penelope has she came closer in view.  She looked normal.  Perhaps Pearl was upset about the danger of the village and leaving that her imagination was overworking itself.  And Penelope. . . she was so beautiful. It amazed him each time how pretty she was.  Walking down the street, a cheerful smile, a basket at her arm.

"I'll be back in a minute, " he called to Winston and Valentine before slamming the door behind him.

Penelope didn't seem to notice his approach, not until it was just in front of him.  She gave a small scream and dropped her basket, several packets tumbling through the dust that rose.  " Percy!  You surprised me!"

At least he could frighten her.  A smile forced itself over his face as his heart flipped.  She had to be okay.  "I need to apologize.  About the gully.  I didn't mean to get upset."

"You're forgiven," she said smoothly, picking up the mess.  "It was mean of you, but you're forgiven."

Too calm.  He hated the way she avoided his eyes.  "Penny, please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad. I just panicked because of the whole mess this place is in."

Percy had known enough girls to sense the lies they shielded when they claimed they weren't mad.  A tilt of the head, something in the voice.  They liked to think they hid their true feelings of anger, but there were ways to tell.  But there were none in this occasion.  She really was not mad.  His breath caught in his throat, swelling painfully at his lungs.  "Penny. . ."

"I'm going to stay her a few weeks longer," she said.  "Won't that be fun?  We'll still have a few weeks together."

She sounded ordinary enough.  Expression and emotion even twisted at her voice.  "But I haven't seen you in a week."

"I've been busy.  And mad at you.  But I recently forgave you, so now things are all right."

"But you're supposed to be mad at me!"  He didn't sense how his temper flared up until it did.  Something was wrong, and he was afraid.  He grabbed her hands, squeezing them.  "You're always mad at me for one thing or another."

She gasped.  "You're hurting me!"  She tried to pull away, but he was too strong.  "Percy, don't."

"Don't?  Don't what?"  He had to make her do something.  Anything.  Anything to ease the fear he felt.

She met his eyes, just for a moment, before dropping them back to his hands.  "Just let me go!  I have errands to run."

That moment he saw her eyes. . . He released her hands.  "I'm sorry," he said tonelessly.

"I'm sorry, too." Her voice cracked.  "I need to go."  She readjusted the basket at her arm and ran down the street.

"She's gone," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Percy turned to see Brogan Marchent leaning against a building, his face drawn and sullen.  "Did you say something."

Marchent solemnly nodded in the direction Penelope had gone.  "Penelope Clearwater.  It's too late."

Percy's temper flared again.  "I don't know what you mean." He refused to know.  Refused to even listen to the suspicions building up inside of him.  Lies.  They couldn't be true.

"You know exactly what I mean."  There was no threat in Marchent's voice, only bitter sadness, the kind that came from seeing far too much of what a certain knowledge taught.  "The same thing that happened to Dormand."

"No!"  He didn't want to hear it.  He whirled on Marchent, knowing the other man could easily win a fight if one started.

Marchent held up a hand to keep Percy from getting closer.  "You know very well it's true.  You saw it when you looked in her eyes.  You can always tell that change. Maybe if you didn't know them before, you'd miss it.  But if you know someone, you will know that change if it comes."

"You killed Dormand," Percy whispered, his eyes burning into Marchent.  "His name is Bartemus Crouch, Jr., and you killed him."

Marchent's face twisted with momentary rage, and Percy was almost afraid he'd be the next victim.  But then it calmed.  "I know I killed him!  Do you think it pleases me? I didn't know him as Crouch, but I knew and trusted the imposter called Matthias Dormand!  I thought he was wonderful.  I thought he knew what he was doing.  Do you have any idea what betrayal I felt when I learned the truth?  That I had worked for someone who had fed me so many lies?"  He sighed deeply, eyes moist.  "And I suppose you feel something similar.  Something worse."

"But I don't believe it." He couldn't.  Despite all the pain inside, the utter dying of his own soul, he couldn't believe it.  Not  Penny. She wouldn't do it to him now.

"Yes, you do.  I'm very sorry.  Penelope was very kind to me when I was under care, and I still feel terrible for attacking her.  But it's too late."

Percy braced himself for what he knew was coming next.  But even that couldn't help much….

"Somehow, she's been Kissed by a Dementor."

Percy's lungs felt as if they were about to burst.  His heart raced, pumping blood faster and faster.  He wanted to rip it out.

"She's received that fatal kiss, and her soul is gone.  Whoever controlled Dormand is now controlling her.  She has no will, and nothing is left of her to fight."

"I don't want to hear it!" Percy shrieked, reaching for his wand.  He wanted to kill, kill the idiot who was saying such untruths.  But the moment his hand touched the wand, he felt his strength leave him.  It was true. He had suspected it from the moment Pearl had spoke to him.  He had tried to deny it when he spoke to Penelope herself.  But it was true. He had seen her eyes, the ones so like Penelope's but so not.  He sunk to the ground, not caring who heard the sobbing coming from his throat.  His eyes burned from the tears.

"Do what I did," Marchent said kindly, placing a hand on Percy's shoulder.  "I'm sorry I killed Dormand, but in a way I don't regret it.  And you love Penelope.  I know you do." He let something clatter to the ground.  Percy didn't have to open his eyes to know it was a knife.  "If you love her, you wouldn't want her existing this way, an insult to everything she was.  It doesn't matter anymore; who she really is, the girl you love, is gone.  All that is left is a shell.  It's not fair for her body to live that way, controlled.  Like a zombie."

Percy barely heard him, didn't notice as he leaved.  But he listened to what Marchent told him, and let it spin through his mind behind all the grief he felt.  Penny was gone.  Not like last time, when even then he had a glimmer of hope,  hope that had been fulfilled.  She had existed then, a dream in the back of his head always waiting for him.  But now she was gone.  And he couldn't bring her back.

Shout-outs!

Crystal Lighteing:  Scandals are fun.  Bwahahaha!  And your Patronus had better not scare away the Dementors in my story!

Inu lover:  Thanks for reading!

JerseyPike:  Yes, I'm updating.  Yay, me.  I've a new goal to not let anything just… quit.

Mar:  Thanks for reading!  And I'll probably take you up on the Spanish pieces!  I'm getting most of it from my friend who's from Ecuador… and it turns out there are many differences between Latin Spanish and the kind spoken in Spain.  As for the Death-Eater thing,, you probably won't believe me about this, but that was a joke I had forgotten about!  My friend Andrea (the one helping me) was having a bit of trouble translating that concept for me, so she decided to do a literal word-for-word translation and see if anyone reading knew enough Spanish to catch it!  She said something about eating souls.  But no one said anything until you and I had completely forgotten about it.  Yay you!  If I ever go over this story again and the real concept in.

Kemerran:  Thanks for reading!  You are so gosh darn loyal!  *hugs *

Nkittyhawk: Happy Late St. Irishness Day to you!  *passes out withering shamrocks *  I'm glad you liked Remus.  He's actually fun to write.  And things are finally wrapping up. I might vamp up this story later on and bring everything thing in tighter.  Thank heavens for rewriting power.  


	28. Snow White

He carried the knife Marchent had given him for two days, a hot and throbbing pain near burning like a flame through the pocket of his robe. Percy didn't know why he had picked it up—a single, thoughtless motion he couldn't be held responsible for.  He had never relied on weapons, ever, not even as a child when as much as a pocketknife would be understandable.  He just wasn't a weapons person.  Oh, he had held them all, daggers, poison, but never had there been what he felt for that knife.  Several times he tried to pull it free of himself and throw it somewhere, but each attempt was in vain.  He would touch the handle and feel fire.  Fire and the hurt of losing Penny and the things Marchent had told him.  Each time they made more sense.  Penny, the real Penny, was gone.  How dare her body be used as a puppet!  It was all kinds of blasphemy.  To kill that puppet, to plunge that blade into what had been Penelope Clearwater, would be nothing more than vengeance served, putting Penny to rest, another motion of destruction against Voldemort and whomever he had placed in charge.  At least, that's what Percy decided in the end.  He couldn't escape logic and reason.

            He didn't know if Valentine Munk and Winston Morsley knew what had happened.  Perhaps Marchent had told them, during one of the strangely awkward moments with him.  It didn't matter.  Valentine and Winston gave Percy a respectful clearing while still including him in their plans.  Valentine's excellent forgings were sent off to Jason Gunnion; hopefully he remain far away.  

            And Percy had his own contribution to make.  After two days, the decision was clear:  He would kill Penelope.

            He waited for her for hours outside the now-empty tavern till she finally emerged, seemingly innocent and cheerful as she hummed a tune.  He hung back, hood drawn, not letting her see him.  She headed down the street, towards the woods no doubt, still humming, sunlight catching itself in her soft brown curls.  She was so beautiful, he thought lamely as he fingered the dagger in his pocket.  Extremely beautiful.  She seemed so much more than what Dormand had been.  Nothing less than a beautiful, vibrant girl.  If he hadn't seen her eyes. . . the knife sent a sickness through him, and he forced himself to grip the handle all the more.  Remember her eyes, he told himself.  Don't be a coward.  Remember her eyes.

            Penelope entered the trees, still humming her little tune.  Percy stalked after her.  Every emotion drained from his body until he might have been the Dementor's victim.  It was so easy, really.  She didn't sense him at all.  It would be so quick, maybe even painless for her.  And then it would be over.

            And then what?  He cringed as fresh heartache rushed into his blank self.  He had already lost everything, everyone. . . he swallowed and pushed the pain back out.  He had to feel nothing, have nothing, for this to work.  He couldn't give into a rage like Marchent did.  He would be calm.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the path.

            Penelope's song ended as she froze, obviously hearing motion, the turned.  Her face paled in what surprise could be given.  "Percy."

            Percy squeezed the knife, feeling its imprint in his palm.  She saw the knife—he could see its reflection in her empty eyes.

            "What are you--?"  She frowned, angry, and reached for her wand.

            He was faster, pulling his own out with his free hand and pointing it directly at her.  "I have the wand and the knife.  Don't you dare move."  His voice was perfect.  But he couldn't cast anything on her.  He just couldn't.  That would be an insult to her body.  He was already to kill her. . . what could be worse?  Could anything be worse?

            She still drew her wand, but let her arm dangle at her side.  "So. . . you're betraying me?  Because this isn't funny.  I know you don't do stuff like that.  You betray me."  Her voice shook.  "I thought you loved me."

            He didn't love this.  "I don't know what's controlling you, but. . ."  He couldn't think of anything, and the words died off, meaningless.  He bit his lip.  "Accio wand!"  Penelope's wand tore itself free from her hand and sailed through the air to Percy. He grabbed it and stuck it in his pocket.

            The loss of her wand seemed to diminish all threat.  With a sob, she sunk to the ground, brown curls falling over her face.  "How can you do this to me?"

            Old stories of Snow White flashed through his mind, the girl in the woods, the huntsman ready to kill her.  It was coming true.  The knife fell from his hand, making a soft clink as it struck the earth.  He couldn't do it.  After all this. . . seeing her now. . .he couldn't do it.  The trees slowly spun around him, mocking, while he stood perfectly still, staring at Penelope who stared right back at him, tears in her empty eyes.  Empty and yet. . . a touch of the light, wishful thinking, perhaps?  He didn't have long to consider before someone approached.

            Brogan Marchent.  He had evidently come to see if Percy could go through with the murder, could really kill Penelope.  And he didn't look pleased.  The knife on the ground, the crying Penelope, the awkward Snow White scene left unfinished, a bad fairy tale gone wrong.

            "You couldn't do it?" Marchent ranted.  He picked up the knife and tried to hand it back to Percy, who refused it.  Percy couldn't touch it.  He didn't dare take it.  And yet with what he knew of Brogan….

            He waited too long, too late to avoid what he should have seen coming.  He had left the knife in the hands of Brogan Marchent, hands that caressed the knife a moment before their body charged wildly at Penelope, blade sharply glinting in the sunlight.

            A terrible flashback to Crouch's murder. . .

            It was like lightening.  A single scream from Penelope, a single plunge of the knife, a rush of redness in Percy's eyes as his muscles twisted.  Then Marchent, suddenly weak, stumbled back, blood dripping from the blade.  He slowly turned his wild eyes to the horrified Percy, who had no consciousness of stepping in, and tore his knife-weilding hand from Percy's grip.

            "She's dead now," Marchent said softly.  "It's best this way.  I killed her in one stab."

            Percy felt blood sleep from his arm; Marchent had cut him during the struggle.  It wasn't much, but he felt all strength go with it.  "Just get out of here," he snapped.  "Get the hell out of here."

            Panic, the now-familiar realization, spread over Marchent's face, and without a word he apparated.

            Percy collapsed to the ground, dizzy in body and mind.  Penelope lay next to him, motionless.  Marchent had called her dead, but Percy had thrown himself in. . . without her soul, did it matter?  He couldn't kill her himself. . . he let some lunatic do it.  He was a coward.  He knew he should be feeling more than these thoughts with their detached emotions.  But there was nothing, just deadness inside of him and some strange closure.

            But she still breathed.  He didn't see it at first, but her mouth fell open, gently pulling at the air, her chest faintly rising.

            "Penny," he murmured.  The would, he saw, was not fatal.  Not even terribly deep.  A slash in the flesh of her lower elbow.  He didn't claim to know healing, but. . . she would be fine.  Her body, anyway.  His own breathing quickened as he tore fabric from the edge of his robe to press against the wound.

            She gasped once, then stirred.  "Percy?"

            She could speak.  At least, as a puppet could speak.

            "Percy, I'm so sorry.  This wasn't supposed to happen."  Her eyes fluttered open, softly blue and alive.

            Alive.  He gazed into them, scarcely believing what he saw.  It couldn't be true. He had seen. . . but no.  These were Penelope's true eyes, full.  He nearly dropped the blood-soaked cloth as he bent his face over hers.  "Penny, you're here.  The Dementors. . ."

            "Mm."  She smiled weakly.  "Finally.  That damned Imperious Curse.  It's so hard to fight it.  But I broke it.  I'm so sorry. I knew I scared you.  But I wasn't allowed to fight it.  She brought in the Dementor, but it didn't attack me.  She said as long as I remained under her control and didn't fight the Imperious. . . oh, this hurts."

            Laughing softly, he pulled her into his arms.  She could be lying.  That was a possibility.  But she couldn't be.  He knew how the curse worked. It was all in the eyes.  This was really her.  "Can I make you feel any better?"

            Her smile broadened.  "Kiss me."

            And he did.

            Remus wasn't prepared to yet return to Dragon's Tooth, but he soon would be.  He planned only to bring a few members of the Order with him.  There would be less chaos that way, surely.  He trusted Penelope to have some semblence of control there, herself.  He'd bring people he trusted, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a few others.  None of the Weasleys.  That wouldn't be fair.  It'd happen sooner or later, what with Tonks soon to be involved.  But until it did. . . 

            Overall, he liked Penelope's plan.  Explain everything.  Get it out in the open.

            But if it was such a good plan, why did he feel such apprehension?


	29. New Plan

It was difficult to fight through the red, feverish mists that surrounded her in her state, thick clouds that threatened to crush her mind into vapor.  Penelope didn't know where they came from—perhaps the imprints of a true fever from her injury, perhaps the last fighting remains of the Imperius Curse that still fought for her.  Even then she could feel it, like tiny, sharp claws at her consciousness.  So painful.  She doubted her soul was yet strong enough to allow her a proper fight; she still wanted to just crawl into some dark corner and nurse it, a different sort of pain that weakened every last part of her as it mended the loose seams where her soul had been nearly ripped from her body.

Asa's face, suddenly kind again in memory, hovered at her thoughts, still crying.  Penelope felt the warm, tasty hatred that came forth.  Betrayed.  She felt so silly.  What a mistake, one she had always imagined herself above making.  The Order. . . they'd just tell her it could have happened to anyone.  But Asa. . . Asa had been Penelope's friend for so long, her teacher, her mentor during the long time Penelope had been searching for a threat to her side of the war.  How could it be, a kind Healer in the service of Lord Voldemort?  Penelope had made so many plans, so many decisions, all with Asa an ignored presence in the background.

So Asa had liked her, in the end.  Had made her a bargain.  No, not a bargain, but a deal in blackmail.  Penelope would keep her soul, and the Dementor brought in would go back hungry.  But she would receive the other half of the torture.  She would be placed under the Imperius Curse.  But it could be fought, yes.  And if she fought it?  Yes, maybe a Dementor could show up in the picture.  But it didn't necessarily have to have Penelope's soul. There were other souls in the village.  Perhaps the Dementor might prefer the taste of another's soul.  That of a certain young man?  These things could be arranged.

And so Penelope had gone on, but not fully obedient under Imperious.  She realized that she could fight enough, not quite enough to break it, but enough to get past the peaceful oblivion, be conscious, aware of the things going on around her, mildly ill at the things her body did.  She cringed, feeling her self slipping back into the Imperious.  How wonderful it wasn't that strong!  Asa was gone, the clever Healer out of the way, the one who had relied on a simple threat to keep a girl in line.  Well, Asa wouldn't be accused yet.

"Penny, are you all right?" Percy's voice echoed above her, strangely distant.

She force a nod and broke herself away from the red mists.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  It's just that. . .ow!"  Her movement struck at the shoulder wound.  "Damn.  Forgot about that."

Percy drew back, suddenly nervous, the poultice she had told him to prepare clenched in his fingers.  "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

She had to smile.  Men, especially Percy, could be such sweet babies.  "No, you're doing everything perfectly.  It's not either of our fault it still can hurt.  Just as long as it's clean."

He gingerly returned the poultice to the wound.  "It's just that. . . you're the Healer, Penny."

"Which means I'm capable of telling you what to do.  Trust me."

He studied her wound, face slightly green, before meeting her eyes.  "Shouldn't this be done. . . I don't know. .  indoors?"

"Indoors?"  She looked around at the trees.  "I didn't notice.  I really can't sense that much, under the Imperious. . . "  Damn it, she sounded like a schoolgirl giving an excuse.  "Percy. . . do you really believe this is me talking to you?"

He didn't blink. "Of course I do.  Everyone always said you can tell by the eyes."  

"You like my eyes?"

Then he did blink.  "It is you, isn't it?"  He sounded hilariously uncertain.

She laughed, nodding.  "It's me.  I promise.  And I hope it will.  Asa isn't here to make sure the Curse stays in place.  Sometimes I can feel it coming at me again, but its easier to fight."

Percy suddenly frowned.  "Brogan Marchent couldn't fight it."

"Brogan. . ."  Her mind whirled. "He was the one that stabbed me, wasn't he?"

He didn't answer, but his face twisted with anger as he slammed a fist at the ground, spraying dust.  

"Brogan. . . he isn't well," Penelope replied calmly.  She knew what Brogan was capable of, but it seemed too strange that he would attack her, of all people.  She was the one who had helped heal him after 

Dormand attacked him.  But what could that mean to someone?  Someone like Brogan, who had trusted Dormand as his leader.  No wonder he was nuts.

"Of course he's not well!  He tried to kill you!"  Percy took a deep breath and was silent for a long time.  "He thinks your dead," he finished.

"Dead?"  She tried to get a good look at her injury, despite having already studied it and doled off to Percy instructions for taking care of it.  "How could he possibly think me dead?"

"He's crazy."

"Well. . . shouldn't someone tell him?"

"No!"  The word was like a knife, deep and cutting.  "No," he said more calmly.  "He might try to kill you again."  He looked about him, face fearful.  "Perhaps we had better leave.  He seemed really upset.  But he might still be around."

Still be around. . . She forced herself to sit up; the wound had stopped bleeding.  "He can't be. . . no one was supposed to be around when I went to see the. . . "  Her voice trailed off as fresh memories flew at her.  Instructions from Asa. . . instructions she had then written in a note to Remus Lupin.. . .  oh, no.  "They're coming!"

Percy dropped to her side and took her hand.  "Who's coming?"

She shook her head, inwardly cursing her own stupidity.  How could she have let that happen?  "I. . . I sent a letter to the Order.  To Lupin, actually.  He's going to come her, bring some people of the Order. . . and then I was to let the Dementors loose on them."

She felt Percy watching her, but she couldn't meet his eyes.  Finally, he asked "When are they supposed to come?"

"I have no idea." Her eyes felt hot, ready with tears.  She had done that.  Something against the Order.  Then, without her permission, a smile came. "Good thing I'm not going to release the Dementors."

He gave a laugh, one that seemed refreshing in all her fears.  "That is good.  Maybe we should thank Marchent for attacking you."

"This is perfect."  Realization was coming.  There was still time. And she didn't even need to write Lupin another letter.  The Order was coming, and with Asa gone there was no longer a threat.. . . she laughed and threw her arms around Percy, not minding the pain.  "It's so perfect!  Lupin and some others will come, and they won't be attacked, but we can explain everything and warn them about Asa!  They can help get rid of the Dementors!  It's wonderful!  The Order is actually coming!"  And after all this time of her not wanting to say anything.

Percy didn't want the Order to come.  Despite all of Penelope's happiness, he didn't want any more of them in the village.  How far could he trust Lupin to keep his secret?  How tempted would Lupin be to bring Percy's father or one of his brothers with him?  Even if he wasn't tempted, who might volunteer to come along?  And this was assuming Lupin had so far kept the secret.  He didn't try to show enthusiasm as Penelope explained her idea to Morsley and Valentine back at Penelope's tavern, but even so he was left fairly ignored.

"It's wonderful!" Valentine shrieked again and again. "This is perfect!  We're finally going to get help!"

"Am I not help?" Morsley put in.

"No, Winston, you're not," she replied with a wink.  "We're not going to worry about having to hide.  And on top of it, we've already got Gunnion out of the way as well, what with my letters."

"Letters?" Penelope echoed.  "You got them out of the way?  Excellent!"

Girls could be so strange, Percy thought.  So excited. . .  while he was left to deal with his family.  

It's silly, came an unbidden thought.  Was he worried about the Order coming just because of the chance a family member might be included?  Perhaps they were just safer if they stayed away from the village, Penelope out of mind control or not.

Was that really how he felt?  After all, he had been practically dragged into the whole mess against his will. . . why should they come voluntarily to danger?  In spite of himself, he smiled.

"I don't know when they're coming," Penelope was explaining.  "Very soon, I hope.  Lupin probably wants some time to pick people. If I know him, he'll want to have a good group."  She looked straight at Percy at that last phrase, and he went cold.  How did she always know what he was thinking?  "So we'll have to be ready.  Tell as many people in the village as you can.  Trust me, as far as I know, I'm the only here that had been under the curse.  I only want the four of us speaking to the Order, but I think the rest of the village should be prepared."  She laughed. "Isn't this great?  Oh, Asa will wish she had never left!"

"What about Brogan?" Morsely asked.

Brogan the nutcase.  When Percy saw him again. . . he didn't know what he would do.  He had tried to kill Penelope.  "He can't be trusted," he heard himself saying.

"Can't be trusted. . . ?" Valentine echoed.  "He's been working with us for a long time.  He. . ."

". . . Tried to kill Penelope.  I don't care what you think, he's too dangerous to be involved."  He didn't want to go through that again.  Not that fear, not that horrible sensation when Marchent had ran at Penelope with that knife. . . he gingerly touched the scar on his face.  Brogan Marchent would not be harming anyone else he cared for.  "We'll just have to keep him out of the way."

"He might do that himself," Penelope put in.  "He thinks I'm dead, that's probably upset him, and he might be hiding."

Morsley nodded, considering that.  "It wouldn't surprise me in the least.  Let's just hope he stays out of the way."

Hope indeed, Percy thought.

"He had better," Valentine said, voicing Percy's feelings.  "This is just too wonderful for anyone to screw up.  Winston, aren't you excited?"  She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.

Winston jumped back, surprised and blushing.

Percy smiled again.  That reminded him to do something.  He looked around for Penelope.

She was at the window, where an owl perched, calmly allowing Penelope to untie the letter, which she read quickly, her faced flushed with excitement.  That couldn't be good, not with her injury.  "Already?" she said softly.  Then she looked up, beaming.  "It's from Remus.  He's coming tomorrow."

Shout Outs:

Crystal Lightening:  Yes, well, I like scaring people.  Maybe I have some sort of death wish for Penelope.

Hydraspit:  Thanks.  I guess it would have been better for some character development to leave her dead.  On that note…. Who says she won't die?  I am the almighty authoress!  Bwahaha!

JerseyPike:  I realized that part would be confusing, but I thought it would be best this way.  I hope I explained it by doing Penelope's thoughts in this chapter and hope the rest of the characters would trust her.

Kemenran:  Thanks!

Mar:  That would have been the utter irony.  Hmm… maybe I should do some morbid rewrite to put that in.  That's be fun, in an evil way.

Nkittyhawk:  You say brilliantly dramatic. Ah, thankyee.  I kinda felt it was a tad cornball.  But I'm like that, so it's hard to fight it….


	30. Dementors

"So are we ready to do this?"  Tonks' cheerful face popped up before Remus', currently blue eyes glowing.

            Remus smiled and set down the newspaper he had been reading on the bench.  "I take it you're actually excited about this, Tonks."

            She laughed and plopped down next to him on the bench, the only escape from the surprisingly busy streets of summertime Diagon Alley.  She gave the passerbyers a musing glance before returning her attention to Remus.  She had always had a curious look at the world, a trait that somehow managed to qualify her for a part in the Order despite all her clumsy flaws.  "Of course I'm excited.  You said this place was out in the middle of nowhere, some pudnick village in the woods. I think it sounds fun.  An escape from civilization, a chance to get a bit o' fresh air.  Not that this air isn't good enough. . ."

            Remus raised an eyebrow.  He didn't suspect Tonks of trying to hide anything;  she simply didn't work that way.  But she did have a certain fondness of rambling.  She talked for the sake of talking—something Remus didn't mind, but the return to the village continued to be a looming threat, one that best be completed soon.  But what did he fear?  Even with the Dementors, there were greater dangers in the war.  And he certainly trusted Penelope to handle everything to the best of her ability.  And yet some coldness remained, preventing him from properly enjoying Tonks' ramble.

            "I'm actually sick of  hanging around here, waiting for an attack," she continued.  "I also want to see Penelope.  I miss her."

            What would Tonks have to say about seeing Percy Weasley?  Could Remus trust her to keep that secret?  Did Percy even trust him?  Remus' thoughts toward Percy were still on the dimmer side, and Percy certainly knew that much.  For all hope, Percy might just hide in some corner while Penelope gave her little explanation.  A logical course of action, and maybe even to be expected.

            Yet Percy already had done much that he had said he wouldn't.  Like it or not, the poor kid was involved.  Even as much as Remus wished Percy wasn't.

            "I'm sure Penelope would love to see you as well," Remus heard himself assuring Tonks.  Flat, like some recording.

            Tonks frowned, squinting in the sunlight.  "You really don't want to go, do you?"  Are you not telling me everything?"  

            "No," he replied quickly.  Took quickly.  It wasn't his fault; he didn't know what else to say.

            She studied him carefully, pondering, then grabbed the newspaper from the bench and flipped madly through it, mouth moving silently as she scanned headlines.  "Did something happen?  I just thought it was an explanation of that Brown group… This had better not be something more serious; I'm sick of it all."

            A perfectly valid question.  Too bad he couldn't think of a positive answer.  "As far as I know, that's all it is.  I guess. . . I guess. . ."  Words failed him with no logic.  "I guess I just don't see much of a point to all of this."

            "There is no point," she said thoughtlessly.  Then she froze, hand on a page mid-turn.  "You've got to be kidding me, Remus."

            "Yeah, it does sound juvenile."

            She sighed, shaking her head in patient bemusement.  "Well, maybe someone needs this.  Or something."

            "Maybe someone does," he agreed.  He couldn't imagine whom.  "Well, I better contact  the others so we can be ready to leave."

            "Just a sec."  She held up a hand.  "Actual interesting article.  Some Healer at St. Mungo's was murdered.  Asa Cortez.  They don't know who did it, but it seems to be separate from the war.  Hmm.  Probably why it made headlines.  Eh, people are getting killed all the time."

Percy didn't want to be there, waiting like bait in a small clearing outside the village in hopes that members of the Order might show to free them all.  There was something terribly moronic about it, a dozen people, mainly close contacts of Morsley's who had hung about the office, representing a village hording Dementors, practically screaming to anyone in some evil position to come and kill them.  How vital this thing was to Voldemort's plan, he didn't know nor care.  But it was the idea that Morsley had been most worked up over and Percy had to agree.  But it was more than that.  The coming of the Order brought so much more personal threat….

            Penelope gave his hand a squeeze and he forced a smile down at her.  He hoped it was somewhat warm.  "I guess I'm nervous."

            "About what?"  Her question was innocent enough, but the implication was toward a total lie on his part.  He hated the way she could read him!  "Percy, there's nothing wrong with doing something good."

            "On occasion," he modified.  "But to the most of the Order. . ."

            "You're the Death Eater who tried to kill your own father."  The suggestion that the phrase had once held was now gone, replaced by an almost sadness.  "I know.  Just don't enforce that image."  She reached up and gently ran a finger down the car.  "You were their to save your father. It's not your fault."  How her words had changed over the past few weeks.  She now agreed with every stupid excuse he had ever made, every action that had brought him to this moment…. For what?  She still didn't understand. Or did she, and just not mention it?  He wanted to scream.  Women were so confusing.  "Besides, this is Remus," she continued.  "I think he's up to keeping his promises."

            How many thoughts did she know?

            Valentine, perched comfortably in a tree—probably familiar from her time watching the dragons—suddenly screamed. "I think that's them!  About a mile off.  Wow, they certainly apparated at a distance!"

            "There's definitely someone," someone else confirmed, sun glinting off their spyglass. 

            Everyone seemed pleased.  Except for Morsley.

            "Well, Remus is the only one who knows this place," Morsley explained.  "Think logically.  The others with him simply wouldn't know where to apparate to—"

            "Shut up, I know," Valentine snapped.  "Oh, wow.  I can't even remember what I'm supposed to say."

            "I'll do the talking."

            "I'll talk," Penelope interjected. "I'm the one actually with the Order, they'll listen to me."  She looked in the direction of the approaching group, her expression soft with a touch of apprehension Percy had rarely seen before.  An interesting anomaly.  What was she thinking of?

            Percy's thoughts jarred at one another.  That wasn't what he was supposed to be worried about.  He was supposed to worry about his family, the threat of Remus' betrayal.  He stared out, vainly searching the trees for a glimpse of red hair.  It couldn't be true, Remus wouldn't do that.  But if a family member did appear. . . what would Percy do?  The question bit at him, fresh and painful and entirely new, something he had never considered, that moment.  Theoretically, it was never to happen. It couldn't, not with all the precautions he had taken.  But now here was that fateful possibility.  He supposed it would depend entirely on who it was.  His father. . .

            The Order was not yet in view, but something else appeared in the trees like a black wave washing through a mossy green river. . . Distant, and yet. . .

            "What's that?" someone asked.

            It couldn't be.  No. Not the strange blackness.  The gully was on the other side of the village… how far could they have come?  "Dementors," Percy whispered.

            "Dementors," someone else soud louder, using the word as one emotionless reaction before all feeling rushed out.

            Next to him, Penelope went cold.  "Oh, no," she whispered.  "I thought. . . I thought the Order could have helped us.  That was the entire point."

            Ginny, Percy thought wildly.

            "What happened?" she muttered to herself.  Then she glared up at Percy, furious.  "This wasn't supposed to happen!"

            A lot of things weren't supposed to happen.  But he knew what she wanted him to say.  He took a deep breath.  "Let's go."

            She nodded, face red but obviously pleased in a grim way.  "Rushing out to join them."  She gripped his hand all the more tightly till the felt his fingers might break.  "Everyone, stay here in case the Dementors come this way.  Start something in the village."

            With that, she and Percy headed into the trees.

            It felt strange, a sickly exhilarating rush.  One simply didn't run towards creatures like Dementors.  One just didn't.  Their presences were so strong, so mesmerizing.  Percy had never realized how destructive they were.  He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them way, hoping Penelope would have the sense to keep her own eyes open.

            . . . Penelope petrified, lying like stone on the hospital wing bed. . .

            He stumbled once and was forced to look ahead.  Black cloaks whirling through the green trees. . .

            . . . Blood-like words drenching the wall, telling of Ginny's fate while he had done nothing. . .

            Next to him, Penelope gave a small cry.

            . . . The horror of the night he had fled. . . his father. . . Death Eaters in the Ministry he had trusted. . .

            Penelope next to him sobbed and knelt to the ground, dragging him with her.

            She shouldn't have come, he realized, a singular thought cutting through his messy mind.  She shouldn't have come, not with her injury still so fresh.  He knelt down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight.  What was she feeling?

            "She's alive."  A voice half in shock.

            A memory or real life?  Percy shook himself to consciousness.

            Brogan Marchent stood above them, blonde hair streaked in ash and sweat, eye wild and confused, staring at Penelope.  "No, she died."  He spoke resolutely, as if trying to convince someone of what he knew to be fact.  "I killed her myself."

  
            A Dementor passed near. . .Percy shook his head again.  "No, you didn't kill her."  Marchent wouldn't come near her again.

            Marchent's gaze fell solely on Percy.  "Of course I killed her.  And I regret it.  It was horrible of me. I shouldn't have done it.  That's why I led the Dementors out here.  So they could chase me down and kiss me."  His voice, icy calm, cracked.  "I'm sorry I killed her.  She's dead.  But she's not dead."

            Penelope looked up, face streaked with tears.  "You released the Dementors?!  What the hell are you talking about?"

            Suicide, Percy realized.  Some twisted form of it.  He watched Brogan's face as if shifted through various emotions.

            "A hunt is so much more exciting," Marchent said softly.  "Besides, little keeps the Dementors in the gully.  They just. . . come."

            "There are people out this way!" Penelope shrieked, trying to stand up.  "And what about the village?"

            Marchent showed some fear, but quickly replaced it with a snarl.  "They've wands.  They can defend themselves."

            She shook her head.  "I've seen them.  There are hundreds of those. .. things.  And very few people can make proper Patronuses."

            "So you admit it."  He frowned at Percy.  "Why didn't you kill her like I told you to?"

            Marchent was insane.  An absolute nutcase.  "Because she never received the kiss," he replied, pulling Penelope even closer.  "She's fine, except for that stab you gave her."

            "Hmph."  But Marchent actually looked into Penelope's face.  He looked for a long time, and slowly his face drained of all color.

            Percy's chest hurt.  He hadn't been breathing.  He sucked in the precious, so much that an opposite pain arose.  He couldn't lose control now.  "But you. . .you just released hundreds of Dementors.  You, so worried about the kisses."

            Marchent said nothing, only stood frozen, a dead thing the midst of the living trees.  Behind him roamed unseen the Dementors, their presence fading as the neared the other group.

            "Brogan, just let us go!" Penelope pleaded.  "There are people out there, and we need to help them."

            "Help them," he echoed dizzily.  A knife appeared in his hand.  He looked at it in wonder.

            Heart racing, Percy pushed Penelope behind him.

            Marchent pushed the blade slowly into his own chest.

            Penelope gave something between a gasp and a whimper, and Percy watched in horror as the body slumped to the ground.

            Penelope had never witnessed a suicide.  Oh, she had heard of them before—who hadn't?—but never had she stood before someone as they took their own life.  So wrong. . . everything she had learned as a Healer went against that.  Healers could try so hard to save the life that could so easily take itself.  She herself had labored over Brogan's life not so long ago.  She stared at Marchent, lifeless on the earth, blood pouring from his chest.  The wound in her own shoulder throbbed in sympathy—but Brogan hadn't missed on himself.  Had he truly missed when he had attacked her?

            As a Healer, there was one thing she was to do.  Brogan might still be alive.  Sudden consciousness overtook her—she was too awake—as she raced toward the body.

            A firm hand on her wrist pulled her back. "We don't have time."

            Her eyes flashed back to Brogan.  Could he. . .?  "I have to check. I might be able to save him."

            "The Dementors," Percy insisted.  "I can't conjur a patronus.  Neither can you, and I don't know how many of the Order can."

            "Why do you care about them?" she snapped.  Strange.  Percy.  Actually defending the Order.  She thought she'd never see that. But why now?  Why couldn't that wait?  She ripped her hand free, but didn't move away.  "Just because he attempted suicide—"

            "He's endangered everyone," Penny," he replied.  His voice was stable, but his face deathly pale.  "There's a chance my family could be out there.  I had to intervene before, and I don't want it again."

            "Something you learned in the Death Eater circle," she replied coolly.

            He showed no offense.  "Amazing some of the things you pick up."

            "So you're just going to reveal yourself to your family, if they're here?"  She hated the taste of the words.

            For a long time he stared at her.  How dare he, she thought.  Then he spoke.  "Penny, I'm glad you're here.  I love you.  Please, come with me."

            He was right.  They had to go.  Regardless of Brogan.  Tears burned in her eyes, streaming from who know what emotion, and she nodded.  It was wrong, leaving Brogan.  Very wrong.  She hurried along with Percy, but glanced back, watching the blood as it seeped into the earth.

            "I'm sorry," Percy said softly.  "I'm sorry."

            She sniffed and tried vainly to push the tears away.  "It's not your fault."

            "Maybe it was."

            She didn't know how to reply. Her mind was a whirl of everything else.  She rushed through the trees with him, concentrating only on keeping her thoughts away from the Dementors.  If only they were nearer. . .

            "We're on the wrong side," Percy said suddenly.

            Penelope stopped, jerking him back with her. "What do you mean, on the wrong side?"

            He shook his head. "I mean, the Dementors are going the wrong way.  You can feel it."

            They were fading from them… she didn't understand.  She closed her eyes, letting down her guard against them.  It was strange… if her feelings could be divided into halves… there was so much more sense of the Dementors' presence on one side.  "And I can hear the others, the people from the Order.  But. . . but we're closer to them.  No, not with the angle."  She tried to imagine it in her mind, a chart like one to make for class.  If only she could be sure.  "We need to hurry and warn them.  Maybe they could hear us."

            "I think they already know," Percy said.  He gazed into the trees, and Penelope recognized shoots of silver through the green and black.

            She grabbed his hand and started forward again.  "Then we really need to hurry!"

            "And do what?"  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  "This is such a mess.  We need to force them back. Somehow.  There are too many behind us."

            She had been the Ravenclaw.  She had to think of something.  But nothing came to mind, except rushing out madly to help them… as more Dementors came?

            "We need to force the Order back," Percy repeated.  "It's our only option."

            Of course.  That would save them, until the Dementors could be dealt with and they could get a proper warning.  "Do you have an idea as to how?"

            "Attack them," he said quickly, voice set.  

            "Attack?!"  Her hand flew to the wound on her shoulder.

            He nodded, sure in his decision.  "Start a fire, maybe.  Nothing big.  If we're there. . . they'll recognize that power."

            She stared at him, horrified by the obvious sincerity in his face.  "But. . . "

            He met her eyes, frowning. "It'll work.  They'll see us, these people surrounded by Dementors, and they'll expect the worst.  They'll be ready."

  
            "The Order," she said softly.  "They'll recognize me.  They'll think. . ."

            "Welcome to my world."

            Remus hadn't expected it.  No sooner had they apparated into what should have been the safe forest than the Dementors swarmed around him, dizzying and lethal.  He wasn't prepared for it, no one was.  But what else could they do?  His wand was out in an instant, hot in his hand, and he felt the silver like a friendly warm flame around him as the patronus spell was released everywhere.  So cold outside of that circle. . .  The one thing that gave him strength.  

            "This sucks!" Tonks screamed, her silver chameleon patronus, larger than life, ricocheted at an invisible wall of air. 

            Remus was inclined to agree.

            "You said it would be nothing!"

            What had happened in the village?  "Just keep fighting!" he called weakly.  "Just keep fighting!"  His own wand burned now at his skin as he tried to keep his own spell alive.

            Or was it the wand?

  
            Flames burned at the treetops, streaks of orange racing toward them, stunning against the black Dementor cloaks.  Remus forced himself to look up...

            Two figures, perched above the flames, staring down at them.

            He squinted.  …Penelope Clearwater?  It couldn't be.

            "She betrayed us!" someone yelled.

            "No," Remus moaned, feeling his patronus' strength waver.  No, he had to keep at it.  It made no sense.  

            "They're probably leading more down," Tonks muttered.

            It had to be something, he thought.  Penelope wouldn't do that.  It had to be something.

            A fresh surge of power blasted from his wand tip.


	31. Final Letters

"Pathetically enough, I'm kind of sad to see it go."  Percy frowned thoughtfully at the tent bundle in his arms, already greasy from the smoke drifting from the fire.  The blaze had been set in the tent's former clearing, making for a too-perfect sacrificial alter.  Not with that in mind, of course, but he did appreciate the results of logic.

Penelope laughed and shook her head.  "For heaven's sake, it's a tent.  And an ugly one at that."

"It wasn't ugly; it just had a weird bathroom."

She absently pulled at the grass and tossed the green blades into the flame, where they quickly smoked and shriveled into strings of black ash.  "They're frogs.  You won't miss the frogs, I can tell you that."

The frogs had been pretty bad.  Ruined the whole thing, especially since he had never really liked frogs.  And he did want out of the damn tent.  "Just don't ask me to paint my face and dance around the fire chanting."  The look on her face was too much, and he laughed.

"I won't ask that of you, Percy," she replied with a grin.  "Can I give you a drum roll?"

Nothing wrong with a drum roll.  He waited for Penelope to make the overly dramatic stomps before tossing the tent bundle into the fire.  "Ugh.  Burning canvas."

Penelope nodded, covering her face with a hand.  "You'd think that would have made some charm to prevent that smell."

"I don't think many people attempt to burn tents."

"That might explain it."

"It's fun, though," he admitted.  He had never imagined he'd find such satisfaction in burning an old tent.  

Hermes hooted his approval from an overhanging branch.

Penelope sighed and plopped down on the grass at Percy's feet, far under the wavering smoke.  "You do realize this means you'll have to move somewhere else."  The concept that had been silently bantered back and forth for some time.

"I know."  He spent another moment watching the ball of fire that had once been a tent before sitting down next to Penelope.  "I don't know if I really want to stay here, though."

"I don't blame you."  She picked at another bit of grass and chucked it into the fire. "And to think my parents had always wondered how exciting the life of a witch could be.  Even out here.  You could always go back to London."

London.  The last place he wanted to be.  "I don't particularly care for London."  There were other places to go, of course, other options. "What about you?"

Her gaze froze to the fire for a long time until he almost thought she hadn't heard him.  "It sounds ridiculous, I know, but. . . but I saw their faces.  Remus'.  Tonks'.  I know it can all be explained in time, but the way they looked at me. . .they. . ."

"They think you're a traitor," Percy finished, nodding.  "Good way to feel, isn't it."

She sighed and turned from the fire, a small, sad smile at her lips.  "I'm sorry."

  
"I didn't mean it that way."

Her smile deepened.  "I didn't take it that way.  I know I've apologized a million times already.  

Well, I can certainly straighten all this out.  Eventually.  Maybe.  Remus knows.  He trusts us.  I hope."

A large section of melted tent broke from the rest, sending a volcano of sparks into the air.  "You wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't made Remus make that promise."

"And that's assuming he kept it."  She took his hand and squeezed it.  "Don't worry. I know he trusts us." Her voice wavered with uncertainty.  "I wish I knew what he thinks."

Percy hadn't seen much, not through the flames and the trees and the Dementors, but he hadn't seen his family. As far as that was worth, as far as he knew, Remus had kept his promise.  

"Penny, I wouldn't worry.  Hey, they fought off the Dementors well, didn't they?"

  
"I was impressed."  She leaned against his shoulder, a good feeling.  "But, oh, I'd just like to be sure."

"And I'd like to be sure of what they two of you were thinking."  Remus appeared from the trees, brushing leaves from his graying hair.

"Lupin!"  Percy instinctively scrambled to his feet, blushing.  "How long have you been there?"

"Don't worry, about ten seconds."  He took in the fire with mild interest.  "Pyros, are you?"

"Remus!" Penelope shrieked happily, throwing her arms around him.  "I'm sorry!"

Remus removed himself with some embarrassment and a smirk from Percy.  "Sorry for what?" he asked dryly.  The humor in his voice was a bare concealer to what he wished to discuss. 

"You're lucky I assumed you weren't attacking us."

"It was Brogan," she said quietly. "Brogan Marchent.  He released the Dementors and led them out that way."

"Marchent?"

"He's dead," Percy interjected.  "Killed himself."  The story of the suicide spilled out.

A strange look passed over Remus' face, but he otherwise visibly pushed off the news.  "What were you doing down there, anyway?"

"We had to warn you about the fire," Penelope explained.

Remus wasn't looking at her.  "Percy, I kept my promise to you.  Your family, save Ginny, doesn't know you're here."

They still didn't know.  He half-wondered when Ginny would let it slip.  She could be awfully good with secrets when she wanted to be.  "Thanks.  I did trust you."  How truthful did that sound?

"None of them came."

Relief.  It almost forced him back to the ground.  Yet with it came something else.  

Disappointment?  Had he worried so much over them that he had needed that to happen?  He forced himself to nod.  "I'm glad of that."

Remus bit his lip and turned to Penelope. "So.  All the excitement has passed.  I made up some explanation for the others; hopefully that will appease them until I can replay yours.  What happened?"

"Asa Cortez," Penelope said. "She was in charge here the entire time.  It was she controlling Crouch."

Remus nodded. "Good job.  I surmised that much myself.  She's dead, you know?  Murdered.  I'm thinking it's that Jason Gunnion fellow."

"So he wasn't available to be controlled."

"I don't think you can ever be really sure of that," Percy said.

"That's the truth," Remus agreed.  "Watch out for him, and hopefully this war will be over soon.  As for the Dementors. . . I'm not sure where they went."

"There's something in the gully that attracts them," Penelope said.  "Winston explained it to me.  The patronuses moved them back there.  We're just not strong enough to really do anything else with them."

"There are people in the Order able to take care of that.  They'll come soon.  Just hold out till then."

"The Order. . ."  She stared at Remus fearfully.  "They don't…?"

"I'll them something.  You'll tell them something."  He nodded at Percy.  "We'll leave you out of it, if you wish."

Percy didn't know how to respond.

Remus sighed deeply and turned his attention to the fire.  "I'm embarrassed to say how nervous I was about coming here to find you two.  When I was down there and saw you making the fire. . . I didn't know what to think.  Especially of you, Miss Clearwater.  Don't worry; I don't think you're a traitor."

She managed a nervous laugh. "I'm glad you came."

He turned back to her, baring the beginnings of a smile.  "I hope you'll return to the Order soon.  I can't imagine why Dumbledore would want you out here any longer.  And with Asa… I don't know how that will affect your Healer training.  Well, I best be off."

Percy was silent until a long moment after Remus had left.  The tent was nearly gone.  "Lupin is almost too trusting, isn't he?"

Penelope nodded her agreement.  "Yes.  It's scary.  I really could have been attacking him."

"You will be returning to the Order, won't you?"'

"I had better, before they think any worse of me.  Valentine and Winston. . . they can handle it out here."

"They can."  Percy took a deep breath, almost gagging on the smoke.  

She made a face.  "Forgot about the burning tent, didn't you?"

That he had. This was messing up what he had in mind.

"The fire is romantic, though."

"I guess so," he said grumpily.  He wasn't stooping to a bonfire smelling of burnt canvas.  "It'll still be here in a few minutes."  He grabbed her hand and led her farther into the trees.  Night was falling, and the faint glow of the fire still found a respectable path through the dusty light.  The spot he found, a tiny path nestled between the trees, was romantic enough.  Minus the odor.  He had to have that proper.  Everything else could go wrong, but this had to be perfect.  Penelope gave a sudden giggle as he knelt on the ground before her.  Like she wasn't worried about anything else.

Percy felt slightly dizzy as he sat down at a table in the tavern.  Penelope had fallen asleep hours ago, having barely managed to make it to her room before exhaustion overtook her.  She was so pretty when she was sleepy.  Well, hopefully it had been an exciting evening for her.  She had given him a final command:  Ginny would love to hear about the engagement.  Hopefully.  He owed his sister that much.

Shaking his head, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and started.  "Dear Ginny. . ."  The greeting died away after itself.  How meaningless would such a letter sound?  She'd hear about the Dementor attack sooner or later.  And yet she was still a teenage girl.  Of course he could write her a letter.  Just not at that moment.  He moved it to the side and took out another sheet, which he stared at for a long time, thinking.  Even after the talk with Remus. . . there was still too much to be explained.

Finally, he dipped his quill into the ink, swirling the black liquid before pulling out the quill.  Then he began.  "Dear Father. . ."

The End!

Sigh.  After over six months, it's finished.  The longest fic I've ever written.  Thanks so much to everyone who's read and reviewed and given help and comments and all that fun stuff.  I may even rewrite this in the future.  But as of the moment… I give lots of love to everyone who has read.  And candy. * tosses candy*  


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